Unexpected neighbours
by Subaruchan192
Summary: Sherlock never knew his neighbours, but this changes when a young biology student moved next door. Catherine Amell was something he had never expected from a young woman. He realised fast that she could be more than a short victim. But what Sherlock never expected, was, that Catherine was going to be one of his biggest case- in many way. NO ROMANCE and I'm not a native speaker ;)
1. Prologue A new face

Prologue: A new face

Dr. John Watson just returned into the Baker Street together with his flat mate, the famous Sherlock Holmes, after they hunted a criminal the whole night. The only thing John wanted to do was to fall into his bed and gathered some sleep, but Sherlock seemed to be confident with the result. His blue-grey eyes glimmered in excitement, while he just wanted to open the door of their apartment, but he hesitated.

"Sherlock? What's going on?" John asked confused and stepped aside to see, what the around head taller man had seen before. A black transporter stood in front of the door, the doors of the bot wide opened.

"A moving van" Whispered the doctor.

"Or the transporter of a thief, maybe?" Sherlock replied to him with a serious face.

"Sherlock!" John admonished his flat mate, sighed and rubbed his eyebrows. Please, not this again!

"Of course it is a moving van. That you always have to speak out the obvious things." Sherlock grumbled at him.

"I haven't known that we got a new male neighbor."

"Not a male one." Sherlock bawled and turned towards him. Although Sherlock did not say a word, it was like John could hear a "Tzz…Tz…Tzz…"

"It's a female neighbor. A young one, around 20, I guess." John sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Fine…what did I oversee this time?"

"Shall I start with the obvious things?"

"Please!" He hissed and shook his head. And now it started again: the big Sherlock Holmes Show. How nice, that he got a permanent ticket for it.

"There." The detective showed on a box that stood right in front of the boot. With a thoughtful view, John stepped forward and watched it. John rolled with the eyes, when he saw that on the brown carton stood the word "shoes".

"Ok…" He admitted. "That was pretty obvious. But how do you know, that she's young, Sherlock?"

"Do you really think that an old woman would put her shoes into the boot that they're the first thing she would pack out? No. Then it would have been porcelain or jewelry, don't you think?" Sherlock responded with a dry tone in his voice. A sighed relieved from Johns throat.

"Ok, got it. But that isn't enough as a proof. It could have been random, because of the packing."

"Yes, properly." Admitted Sherlock and bowed his head slightly. One of his dark brown curls fall into his slim, pale face with the high cheekbone. "But do you see the carton in the back?"

He pointed out another carton. A top looked out of the lid. It was purple and glimmered.

"Obviously interested in fashion. Inspired by Chanel, but it isn't an original piece. The cloth is too cheap for that. Not to speak about how it was sewed. Conclusion: Our new neighbor is fashion-conscious and this model is out of the new season, so I would say rather young."

"Just a moment…" John spluttered. "Since when do you have knowledge in fashion, Sherlock?"

"You have to be proficient in many things, my dear John." Answered Sherlock calmly and started to go around the transporter.

"For God's Sake, what are you doing?" Whispered the ex-military doctor and followed his flat mate.

"What I'm wondering about is…" Sherlock murmured like he hasn't heard Johns question. "How could a young woman have enough money for a flat in the center of London?"

"Sherlock!" Hissed John and tried to pull his friend away, but Sherlock did not let himself being misled.

"Uh…Can I help you?" A female, skeptical voice asked. John blushed immediately and stood up, while Sherlock continued to investigate unabashed the wheels of the transporter.

"Excuse us, young Lady, we don't want to be impolite…we…" What should John say?

"God damn it! Sherlock, stop it!" He angrily hissed at Sherlock.

"Why should I?" Replied Sherlock innocently.

"My name is John Watson and this…" John thought about how he should introduce Sherlock the best way, but she may know who he was. Sherlocks name was quite famous. His hand fawned unsecure through the air and sighed. "This lovely man is Sherlock Holmes."

He held out his hand in greeting, and after a few moments of hesitation, she grabbed his hand.

"Catherine Amell." She introduced herself, but she had an eye on the Consulting Detective.

John used the time to have a look on their new neighbor. Sherlock had been right. She was young, around 22 he guessed, and had long, bright brown hair which built curls in the hair tips. Bright, blue eyes watched Sherlock skeptically, who kneeled in front of a wheel and brayed earth between his fingertips. John war irritated. Sherlock never took an assay with bare hands. The young woman raised an eyebrow and twisted her pearly lips.

"Sherlock…for heaven's sake, stop it!" John shouted at Sherlocks face. The situation was unpleasant for him, but unfortunately his flat mate couldn't be stopped. He gripped the arms of the dark-haired man, grumbled and pulled him away from the wheel.

"John…let me go…John!" Grumbled the taller man and stood up finally. His eyes threw a gaze towards the woman. Secretly, John rolled his eyes. Not this again! As if the whole situation wasn't strange enough for the new neighbor. She shifted from one foot to the other, visibly uncomfortable, but she defensed herself against the searching gaze out of the grey-blue eyes. John nodded approvingly. Not all could say that from themself.

"Catherine Amell, Age 22…" Sherlock started his deduction immediately. Catherine narrowed an eyebrow and watched the situation carefully. "Originally from Cardiff. Probably moved here for study. History or philosophy in the first semester, I guess. A passionate cavalier and fashion victim, but not so much that you would describe her as a fashion doll." Sherlock glanced and looked at Catherine intensively now, stepped up to her. For John's surprise, she did moved back; instead she even turned slightly on her tiptoe, looked back at Sherlock and stretched out her chin.

She was about a head smaller than Sherlock, nearly as tall as John, so that she needed to make herself big to look into his eyes. John looked from one to another.

"Impressive." She said sarcastically.

"Just a warm up." Replied Sherlock calmly and his corners of the mouth jerked. He enjoyed it, but John noticed that Catherines admiration wasn't as big as Johns had been when he had met Sherlock for the first time.

"What else have you noticed yet? That was certainly not all. Most could have been read out of the transporter easily." Catherine remarked briefly and narrowed an eyebrow. The famous Sherlock Holmes barrowed his slim head and seemed even a bit frustrated. By God, what kind of game were they both playing? John ran his hand through his short, ash-blond hair. Typical for Sherlock. He always searched for confirmation, but he did not get it from Catherine. Not yet. John knew that Sherlock had already found out a lot more about the young woman as he showed and now every detail would be revealed no matter how intimate it was.

"Sherlock…" He tried to dissuade his friend in a calm tone. To get her deepest secrets spread out on a public street could be disturbing. He grabbed the cloth of the wool coat gently, trying to pull Sherlock away, but the slim, almost frail Sherlock was unusually strong and did not move a millimeter.

"Come on, Sherlock, let it be!" He shouldn't have done that. An evil look by Sherlock was the answer, before he turned back to Catherine. She still looked challenging back at him, her arms crossed in front of her body. The gray-blue eyes of Sherlock wandered over her arms and hands and he got certainly more conclusions. John sighed and gave up. Sherlock was unstoppable now; he knew his flat mate well enough.

"Why, John? She seemed to be curious about what I've found out." Sherlock replied discontentedly in his deep baritone, which normally appears, when danger was appearing. The blond-haired man sighed and stepped aside. Not good, really not good. Sherlock never knew when to stop and he didn't care about social conventions. He was justly known as a freak or a sociopath in the homicide of Scotland Yard.

Catherine snorted and put a strand of hair beyond her ear, while the doctor gave up, sighed. He knew that Sherlock was unstoppable.

"I'd rather know why you go around my van. Is this the way how to be welcomed as a neighbor in London?" She asked mockingly, closing the doors of her van as a precaution.

"Only if you have a sociopath as a neighbor, but yes, for Sherlock it may be a normal greeting ritual." Sneered John before he got thrown an impenetrable gaze.

"All right, Mr. Holmes. Bring it on. I'd love to unwrap my transporter before it starts raining." Instead of replying, Sherlocks lips twitched amused. Apparently, he seemed to be pleased with Catherine- or in other words: she did not bore him completely.

As Sherlock wanted to say something, Catherine raised her hand and stopped him. The black-haired saw irritated to her, but Catherine just smiled slightly.

"How about a deal?"

"What kind of deal could you offer to me?" Sherlock asked deprecatorily and raised an eyebrow. Catherines got back on her foot sole and crossed her arms in front of her chest again.

"How about this? If you help me carry my boxes into my flat and I allow you to analyze about me as much as you want?" Sherlocks lips curled scornfully and he pulled his scarf tighter around his neck.

"Why should I do that? I'm able to do it right here. I know everything yet."

"Yeah…", Catherine started and a small grin let her mound twitched. "But my apartment is already fully furnished and I'm sure it tells you even more about me and afterwards I'd say, what was right." John grinned now as well. Now she got Sherlock.

"I'm always right." His voice was icy and he threw an angry look at Catherine.

"Are you really sure about that?" She grinned evilly and nodded encouragingly. John looked surprised at his new neighbor and could hardly suppress a smile when he saw Sherlocks derailed face. Just the idea that Sherlock could have been wrong in his deduction was unthinkable for him. The new woman had really struck a nerve now and John liked her a little more. Just to see Sherlock like this was worth the unpleasant situation.

Sherlock seemed to weight the offer. Thoughtfully, he had folded his hands over his mouth- as he always did when I was thinking strongly. He had closed his gray-blue eyes, while a cold breeze played through dark brown curls. After several minutes he finally opened his eyes.

"John, help her unpack." And then Sherlock disappeared into the door of 221b Baker Street.

"What…hey, Sherlock! Why should I…" John shouted irritated after him, but his flat mate was already gone. He looked after the Consulting Detective, the green door had been shut already. That could not be true! Was he Sherlocks sidekick or what? A frustrated sigh escaped him and he looked at Catherine, who chuckled in amusement.

"A really interesting way to say welcome. I believe that London could be exciting." She murmured softly, tugging at her clothes. She replied Johns view, while a bigger grin twitched in her mouths corner. "What a strange guy." She said simply and only shrugged her shoulders.

"That's an understatement." John laughed.

"But he does not seem to be a sociopath." Catherine murmured again, this time so quiet that John could barely understand it. Just before he could ask, she continued:

"Come on, Mr. Watson. There are only four boxes left and they're not heavy. If you help me, I don't need to come down a second time." She looked at him with a sugar-sweet gaze, but John wasn't really moved. Catherine saw it and grinned again.

"The deal was for Sherlock, not for me." He replied frustrated and looked up to their window. Meanwhile light glowed in her room and he saw Sherlock's lean figure, which was applied across the room. Apparently he thought about the new situation.

"But you're curious. You show it even more than your friend. So, Mr. Watson, be a gentleman and help your new neighbor." She looked again at him and grinned even wider.

"I'm sure you don't want to miss the show." Confused John furrowed his brow.

"Show?" Catherine nodded, her grin was almost vicious. Something deep inside him said to John, that he really wanted to see what Catherine was talking about.

"I'm gonna knock your friend for a loop. He was wrong in two things." Her grin was now almost radiant and the former military doctor looked surprised.

"Sherlock was wrong? Are you serious? Sherlock Holmes was wrong?" John laughed and walked up to the van.

"Oh yes, he is."

"I have to see that, really." John could not deny it no more. He wanted to see it. Definitely. Just to see Sherlocks face when she opened towards him that he had been wrong was totally worth carrying some boxes. Oh, he started to like this girl. Pretty much. She was going to affront Sherlock and keep him on his toes. This was going to be interesting.

"Then help me unpack or the deal is done."

"Ok, that's definitely worth it." The young woman grinned and tied her hair up.

While Catherine opened the doors of her van and snapped the two boxes in the front, John took the one remaining. Meanwhile they walked to the entrance of 220 Baker Street, he finally said with amusement:

"Oh and Catherine…"

"Hmmm?" She turned around and watched John questioningly.

"Welcome to the Baker Street." His grin was returned and the young woman just said with a smile:

"Thanks…I think I should maybe look for a new apartment."

"If you love peace, you should consider it."

"No…" Catherine answered now clearly serious and quiet. "No, not really."

Sherlock came out of the apartment. He waited for them and watched them. John carried obediently the boxes into the apartment. John grinned at Sherlock, which irritated the Detective and immediately he tried to read his face, but he turned his head away to avoid that he could deduce something and followed Catherine in her apartment.

Catherines flat was in the house next to 221b and was in the second floor. It was a small, but cute apartment with four rooms- bath and kitchen included. The style of their furniture was rather rustic, fitting for the old flair of this street. A leather chair stood in front of a fireplace and next to it stood a ceiling-high bookshelf. At the other end of the room was a three-meter long desk. The kitchen was rather simple. Stove, fridge, some cupboards and a dishwasher.

The furniture was unusual for a student. The apartment was rather sparse, but all of them were from high quality and expensive, too expensive for a student. John had to give Sherlock right. How could a student afford such an apartment? Especially since the flats were sold in the center preferred. Their apartment was Mrs. Hudson actually the owner. They were only tenants.

"Where should I put those boxes?" John asked as he walked into the cozy apartment.

"Oh, just somewhere. I have not a closet for the shoes yet." Said Catherine and disappeared into the kitchen. Sherlock had entered the room after them and his eyes wandered around the room.

"Could you please close the door, Mr. Holmes, before you're gonna start?" She asked, peering around the corner. Sherlock hesitated a few moments, but then followed the request to Johns surprise.

"Tea?" her blue eyes sparkled with amusement, before she began to boil water.

"I'd prefer coffee." Said John. It had been a long night and he would like to sleep, but he needed just caffeine to stay awake.

"With two piece of sugar." Came from Sherlock. John threw an annoyed look towards his flat mate. Civility has never been his strength. Catherine just rolled her eyes and disappeared into the kitchen, searched the coups, cursed, because nothing was where it should be and then came back. She put the steaming cups in front of their visitors and sat down on the couch.

"Well, let the game begin. I'm curious how much you have discovered." Said Catherine and she crossed her legs. Carefully, she sipped her coffee. Sherlock let his gaze wandering through the room for the last time.

"You're not artistically talented, but you like it. You love music, playing piano. Your taste of music itself is diversified. Technique is not your area. Although you have a smart phone, you use it just for calls or SMS. You cannot cook as well." Sherlock sipped his coffee and watched the emotions of Catherine exactly. She tried to hide them as good as possible, trying to avoid telling him unconscious if he's right or wrong. John was sure that Sherlock still could read something in her face, but for him it was not possible to say if Sherlock was right.

"Next?" She asked quietly and took a swig. Sherlock grinned sadistically. Soon he would show his greatest triumph. John would like to protect the young woman before it, because he felt that Sherlock had discovered something very savory and he would keep that until the very end. A smile played on his lips. He wanted to impress her no matter what it's going to cost.

"Shall I continue with the obvious or head towards the private things?" He asked quietly, taking a sip of coffee. If it was uncomfortable for Catherine, she was doing pretty well in hiding it. Her bright blue eyes watched Sherlock emotionless and she waited.

"I'd like to know everything, so I know how much I could keep and how much you already know about me. Then I know where I stand." She finally said and sighed. John felt sorry for her. Catherine was still young, even though they were very mature and tried to hide it, he had long noticed that something was wrong.

"A wise decision." It sounded almost like a compliment from Sherlocks mouth and a small smile played on his lips again. Finally he stood up and walked through the apartment, watched some furniture accurate and flipped through books.

Catherine gave John a look that asked if Sherlock was always behaving like this, but John could only shrug his shoulders, meaning that it was common, unfortunately. She nodded slightly and her eyes went back to Sherlock, who had turned back to her now.

"You're more the shy kind of person, but you're trying to change this now. New clothes, new haircut. Your hair tips are not yet grown out, so I'd say you were at the hairdresser within the last two weeks. Also, you do not wear makeup very often. Your eyeliner is blurry and you can the edge of your foundation. Plus your skin has a light ax, because she's not used to make up. Conclusion is, that you trying a new start here. Were you unpopular at school or weren't you even noticed? Did no one see you what are you trying to hide so desperately?" Sherlock grinned, when he realized, that he brought Catherine out of countenance. She was biting her bottom lip and avoided his gaze. With a sip from the cup she was trying to escape the situation. Sherlock slowly walked towards her, the searching gaze still on her. He was apparently confident that he had broken her fighting spirit. John saw, that Sherlock was still keeping something. Finally, he stopped in front of Catherine, leaning forward so far that their faces were only inches apart. An evil grin played across Sherlock full lips before he breathed very softly, so John could barely understand it:

"You were so insignificant that you are still a virgin, Catherine Amell." Silence. With wide eyes the young woman saw up to him and he stood up again. "Well, how was that?"

An amused smile was on his lips, while John has blushed. He had expecting nearly everything that Sherlock could have found out, but not that he would deduce that. He nearly spitted his coffee. No wonder, that Sherlock had been amused all the time.

"Sherlock!" He gasped horrified, but Sherlock still looked at Catherine, who sighed and looked up after a few moments.

"Am I right, Miss Amell?"

"Does that matter? Even if your assumption was untrue, and I would tell you that, you would not believe me. What sense would this make?"

"So it's true." Said Sherlock satisfied. The young woman sighed again.

"Yes, it's true." She said dryly without a blush. John could not believe it. She admitted something so intimal like this? And that without becoming embarrassed?

"You're smart." The dark-haired sat back in his chair. "Smarter than the most."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Catherine was visibly upset, but gave effort to stay calm. John could see this. Her nostrils flared as she forced herself to breathe out and she closed her eyes to calm herself down.

"May I know how you find this out?" She slowly got up and stood right in front of Sherlock. "You didn't touch my hymen, didn't you? I could say that it's not intact because of other reasons."

John was just embarrassed and would prefer to escape from the apartment. By God, what kind of people are these two? Do they have no reverence?

His flat mate simply laughed and leaned down to her.

"She's quick on the comeback as well. Interesting. No, of course I have not."

"Fine, otherwise that would make me seriously concerned." She said dryly and pushed a pony strand from her face. "So, how did you do that?"

"I've guessed more or less."

"Guessed? Sherlock, you never shot in the blue. Especially not with such a thing." Exclaimed John. Sherlock spun around and narrowed his brows.

"Of course I don't guess without a hint just to see her reaction. For God's sake, I thought you know me better, John. I had no concrete evidence. As she said, I could hardly touch her hymen, but there were several clues that confirmed my suspicion." Sherlock continued annoyed and snorted.

"Such as?"

"Well, as I said earlier, you were rather shy. I have not found any boxes with photos from your friends in the entire apartment, which suggested me that you had not been particularly popular. However, you're not unattractive out of the view of society, so it must have been your behavior. So I concluded you to be shy or rather unremarkable. Another indication was your statement to John that you are not having a closet for your shoes yet. Would you really be a fashion victim, this would be one of the first things that you would build up. Or you would post on Facebook, tweet on twitter or whatever. More likely you would have checked your cell phone for SMS from your friends. Earlier, I saw you briefly watching your cell phone before you had gone into the kitchen. I was able to see your call history. It showed me that you do not use your cell phone very often. She handed back two months and showed that rather you called someone instead of being called."

Catherine raised an eyebrow and looked really impressed. That a little sentence and her cell phone could reveal so much about her personality, she probably never guessed. John never did as well until Sherlock had made his deduction about him. Maybe Sherlock was right. He saw it, but he did not notice. His comments made sense so far.

"Really impressive." She said finally appreciative. "But that's not enough for your conclusion."

"Of course not." Sherlock said. "Between the clothes that you have carelessly thrown on the bed, I found some baggy sweater and frayed jeans. Of course, each young woman has a few. For sport or for leisurely Sundays, but in your case, the ratio was unbalanced, which showed me that you had never paid attention to fashion, as I initially thought. You always twitched on your skirt and played with your hair, which indicates that you're still not familiar with it. I guess you hair was mostly worn as a ponytail. Along with my knowledge regarding the make-up and that you, as a young passed by and watched you interested, avoided his gaze shyly reinforced my suspicions. Perhaps you have problems of talking to people in your age. You're not familiar with the subjects they're talking about and your sarcasm is normally not understood. So you trying to avoid him and that make you feel uncertain. This is noticed by other people and you were probably seen as weird. With John and me it's something different. We are too old and out of the…" –Sherlock made quotation marks with his fingers- "danger zone. You've noticed that we're using sarcasm ourselves, so that you're showing your true self now. A classical mistake: You're thinking too much about what somebody might think about you and trying to get along with everybody- or at least do not make unpleasant impression.

"Something that would probably never happen to you, right, Mr. Holmes?" Catherine replied acidly and gave him an appraising look.

"Of course not." Sherlock grinned. "Then life would be so boring." John sighed and rubbed his eyebrows. Gradually he was going to get a headache.

"There were other clues as well. On your call list was not a single boy name." Continued the Consulting Detective calmly while he watched Catherine. He stared back impassively. Somehow, she knew that there was no turning back. She could not hide anything from Sherlock. John saw that his friend had great fun and he was in top form. He formally awaited that Catherine would demand.

"I would be possible that I just haven't a relationship for a long time." And she already was doing him a favor.

"Of course, but since I had discovered no former gifts, souvenir photos or other evidence of a relationship, I could be quite sure. There were not even torn photos. Along with my other findings, the probability was higher, that this is not the case."

Catherine closed her eyes and stood up, walked to the window and stared out of it for a while the sun went down gradually. For the first time in a long time Sherlocks eyes wandered back to John. He twisted his face and shook his head.

'_What_?' Asked the gray-blue eyes.

'_Timing_!' His own answered.

'_Not good_?' A confused expression wandered into Sherlocks eyes. John sighed and rolled his eyes. Sherlock would never understand. He could just speak Chinese as well. Although the probability was high that his flat mate would understand Chinese.

Suddenly a sarcastic clap broke through the uncomfortable silence and both- the Consulting Detective and the Afghanistan veteran- turned around surprised. Catherine had turned around now and threw a withering look at Sherlock.

"Excellent…really excellent, Mr. Holmes." Her voice was acidified and apparently she felt hurt in her privacy.

"I just did what you asked." Sherlock replied, but Catherine let him shut up with an angry look.

"It's really impressive how much private things you've found out in such a short time…but though it's even more surprising that you were wrong in such obvious things." A slender eyebrow rose and she leaned against the window sill.

"Wrong?" Sherlock hissed through clenched teeth. "I am never wrong."

"But you are and I can prove it pretty easy." She walked into a backpack, who was standing carelessly in the corner, and pulled out her purse. Apart from the usual cards and some cash, John discovered a student ID from the University of London. To his surprise, she pulled out exactly this ID and handed it to Sherlock. Suspicious he looked at it.

"History or Philosophy? Oh so wrong." Grinned Catherine, who had now recovered her voice.

"Then what?" John asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"Biology…" Muttered Sherlock with raised eyebrows. "Sixth Semester. But…the history books." His eyes looked at her aghast.

"What?" Now Catherine giggled and held her hand in front of her mouth. "Is it forbidden to be interested in history when you're a biology student? It was my favorite subject right after Bio. But the job prospects." She waved her hand. "…Are more than bad."

"But…_biology_? The beginner science?" Sherlock grimaced and ran a hand through his curly hair.

"Beginner science? I don't think so, my dear Sherlock Holmes." Catherine replied smugly and her eyes began to sparkle. John immediately saw that this subject was her passion and that she would not allow anyone to say something bad about it.

"But it's not chemistry or physics." Sherlock said.

"The biology includes EVERYYYYYYTHIIIIING!" Her hand made a wide gesture. "Chemistry, physics, medicine, mathematics. Without them you're not able to understand it." She said with shining eyes. "You have to study everything to understand Biology. She is the only true science. For a moment the two unlikely opponents stared at each other, wore out their battle over their eyes until both finally grinned. John looked confused between both. What had they agreed now? Heaven, hopefully she wasn't a young, female version of Sherlock, right? He would not survive this, but she seemed to be at least a little presentable.

"Well…we put this aside. There is something that interests me more." Sherlock said quietly, leaning back in his chair. Catherine also sat down again and looked at him skeptically.

"Something you could not deduce yourself?"

"Perhaps, but asking is faster."

"All right, I have no choice anyway."

"You're learning quickly."

"The question, Mr. Holmes." She said annoyed.

"Why did you move to London so close before your final exam? The University of Cardiff has a good reputation in sciences, even in_ biology_, while London is more specialized in law and the humanities."

Suddenly the smile disappeared from her face and a sad gleam lay in her light blue eyes. Of course it was nor remarked by Sherlock, but John did not miss it. Something very traumatic happened recently in her life. John knew the look in her eyes too well- too often he had seen him in his own eyes.

"Personal reasons…" She murmured softly with narrowed head. "I had to move to London and I had luck to get a scholarship at a regarded professor lap for my thesis."

"Which branch?"

"Functional Genome Research. So it's something like genetics in microorganism." She said.

"At least not botany." Sherlock said relieved.

"For God's sake, not botany…" Moaned Catherine.

"What? Why?" Mingled John now totally confused. A fatal mistake.

"This is too boring!" They both called out at the same time and looked at each other, shaking their heads.

"Who wants to look at plants?" Laughed Catherine, when she turned back to Johns flat mate.

"Nobody." Sherlock replied with a grin. His gaze wandered through her apartment and then back to her. "How can you afford this apartment?"

"Well my parents…"

"You're lying." Interjected Sherlock.

"Sherlock!" Hissed John annoyed and poked him in the ribs.

"Ow!" Sherlock said and throw an angry view to John, but Catherine just shook her head.

"It's alright…" She sighed. "My call history, right? If my parents would pay it, they would certainly call me within the last two months."

"You learn really fast. You should watch it, John."

"Better not…" Muttered he annoyed. Sherlock and Catherine looked at each other, but just grinned. There were a few minutes of silence, but then Catherine sighed and continued with a suddenly trembling voice:

"I guess it has no sense to conceal it any longer…even if it's very uncomfortable for me. I inherited this flat not from my parents…that's true…it's from my…"

"From your brother." Sherlock finished her sentence. She looked at him with a confused view.

"I think I can break the habit to finish my sentence." She said, a small smile played on her thin lips.

"This is still the most harmless thing." John grinned, while trying to loosen the strange atmosphere. He was not comfortable in that situation. Although he was not as intelligent as Sherlock he was good in understanding people. Maybe this was the reason why he was able to stay at Sherlocks side for such a long time, because he knew him a little. More than anyone else, and especially more than Mycroft. Something was in the air like she was suffocated by a heavy cloth. Sure, Sherlock did not notice. He was good in reading emotions based on facial expressions and gestures, but he never understood what lay behind it. What the soul tried to tell was always a big secret for Sherlock.

It was John who understands this and he was trying to stop Sherlock when he was driving too far in his inability, but he was too focused on Catherine and her past, caught in the storm of his knowledge, that he did not even notice John- once again.

Sherlock looked confused between his new neighbor and his roommate when he noticed how they looked understanding at each other, but he did not understand the reason why. The feelings of human were too irrational, illogical as he could get them and even more than this: they were annoying.

Even though John has always managed to amuse him with his biting sarcasm and he sometimes seemed to…worry?...about him when John was in danger, he would never understand the world beyond logic.

Sudden, however, something changed in Catherines body language. Her eyes blinked several times to disguise tears and her hands trembled.

"How do you know? I have no memorial things here…" She began to stutter and her voice seemed close of being broken. Seeking for help, she looked at Sherlock and he gulped his urge to present himself and just pointed to a small dresser. Although he did everything else to highlight the ignorance of the people around him, he did not this time- to his own surprise. Something about Catherine made him forget his superiority and he just gave her a simple answer. He saw John's irritated look that did not understand what was done well, in Sherlock, which he did not own and it was answered with a shrug.

She got up slowly, ran distractedly through her hair and went to the dresser. When she reached it, she stopped and suddenly she seemed as fragile as a doll. Her whole body was shaking and even from the distance both men saw that she had tears in her eyes. Hesitantly, she reached out her hand and took a silver picture frame from the dresser.

"I did not know…" She said, swallowing hard like she had a big lump in her throat and she fought bitterly against the tears. "That he still had this photo…oh, Jeffrey…" Catherine fell back into the chair powerless and looked at the photograph.

John could see from his position that there were two people on it. A small and a tall one, who were holding hands. It was snowing in the photo and both were packed in warm clothes like the Michelin man.

Since she had the picture in her hand it seemed like all her power went away. Infinite sadness flooded through her eyes like a rough sea during a storm and tears glistened in her eyes. And there she was. Although she had trying everything to defense herself from Sherlocks attacks, the strong, adult woman was gone and left a twenty year girl who was completely overwhelmed with her situation.

John had to admit that she had fought better than most adults. No matter how hard Sherlock tried to provoke her, she always remained polite or at least humorous, but right she seemed to be…broken. Something had happened what she hasn't been able to overcome yet. John secretly hoped that Sherlock would not be tactless again, but to his relief the Consulting Detective stayed silent and just sit in the chair in his thinking position.

Sherlock saw the sadness in her eyes all too well. During the last half hour that they were in her apartment, she had always tried to make it too easy for him to understand her and she had realized quickly what his conclusions were based on or hid her feelings better than many did. She did so well that he almost forgot how young and inexperienced she was. But now he saw it abundantly clear that her feelings were overwhelming. Catherine held the picture desperately as if she was clenching on the memories and her whole body shook under suppressed sobs. She did not want to annoy neither John nor him with her grief. Something that he valued, but Sherlock that she could not win.

Catherine was going to lose this fight against her feelings like all the ordinary people., but Sherlock had to admit that she was strong. More than he would have expected it…and that he had no idea what had happened to her brother.

"What happened?" He finally said softly, almost sympathetic tone. He could imitate emotions well, if it was necessary. He could even cry on demand, but this time it was reals. Squinting, she looked up again and tried to hide her tears.

/Brave girl/, it suddenly shot through his head. Because she was just that. She was not a woman, even if she tried it so much, she was still a fragile girl, what had to find her way, but became blocked because of big rocks. Probably this situation had increased her sarcasm even more, she tried to push everyone away so that she could not be hurt. He guessed at least, but nobody could hide something from Sherlock Holmes. Although she grew on her task, it destroyed her at the same time. Sherlock knew this feeling of brokenness. He had fought against it with drugs in his young age.

"He…" She began and took a deep breath. "…died two months ago." She spoke it out too fast and showed so the emotional suffer that was still behind it.

"What a luck." Sherlock said quietly, taking a sip of coffee and made a face. It was cold.

"Sherlock!"

"What? Brothers are exhausting and annoying."

"Not everyone has a Mycroft Holmes as a brother." The doctor replied sternly, pulling down his eyebrows.

"That would be even worse." Exclaimed the brunette. "That would be a damn big British government."

"Eh…what?" Catherine looked confused, but the sadness remained and her fingers ran across the frame. John gave her a look and shook his head.

"Not so important." He tried to calm her. Catherine nodded. She had learned not to ask about Sherlocks ominous hints. After several minutes, in which only the beating of the clock broke the silence, Catherine whispered so softly that she was barely understandable:

"He's the only family member left…my parents died ten years ago…and now…" She bit her lower lip. "I have no one anymore. That's why I came here…to find out more."

"How did he die?" John had wanted to initiate Sherlock in the ribs, when he heard how he started to speak, but then he stopped. It was not a cold calculation in his voice, no neutrality, as it was normally heard from him, but there was something…soft. Perhaps something like humanity? Like sympathy for a girl who had lost her brother?

"I don't know…" Sighed Catherine and just shrugged her shoulders. "I got a letter from Scotland Yard, where I was told, that he's dead. I was not even allowed to see him and I do not know where he's buried."


	2. 1 Chapter: When neighbours becomes a pe

Chapter: When neighbors becomes a pest

Catherine Amell had high hopes of London, when she moved here two months ago. An easy study, a little more excitement in her life and to find a bit more about the mysterious death of her brother Jeffrey. Well, none of this came as she had expected. How was it said? _Things never become what you're expecting._

This was definitely the case. She could have had a quiet, peaceful life in the capital of the United Kingdom, but she had to meet Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson- her new neighbors. Ok, Mr. Watson was really okay. He was a very nice, sensitive man, but Sherlock Holmes could be a real pest. What, like John had said, was still a mild understatement. Meanwhile, she began to understand why. He kept her on her toed. In addition to her work on her thesis she barely came to learn. Sherlock constantly swept unannounced into her apartment to ask her insane questions about biology.

'_How do I make a rabbit shine_?', was even the most harmless question. Naturally all purely hypothetical, as Sherlock assumed, her, but she could not really believe him. For this, she had get to know him too well, and had heard so absurd-sounding storied from John, while they were drinking coffee together, to even believe Sherlock for a minute. There were so absurd that she sometimes play with the thought that John might kidding her, but for Sherlock they were more than fitting. It would even be surprising if they were not true.

Sometimes it seemed to her that John was happy that she lived next door. A more or less normal person who knew Sherlock and where he could complain. Catherine noted, however, that he's not so bothered as he acted, that he was enjoying the time with Sherlock- more than he admitted.

She sighed and ran a hand through her long brown hair that was now braided again, while she tried to remember the names of various genes involved in cell division. With neighbours like that she could forgot to have a normal life anyway, so she did not need to play the role any longer. Her eyes went back to the lecture, which was opened on her laptop, and then looked back at the recommended textbook.

_Mal3_, _Cdc 25_- which was another gene in than in s. cerevisiae- _Cdc2_…who had given them such stupid names? And how should she memorize them? Frustrated, she closed her MacBook and put her head on the desk.

She needed sleep. Her thought exaggerated only sluggishly. How did Sherlock manage to stay awake for three days when he was working on a case? She was completely done after a night out and she wasn't able to catch at least one clear thought. And she had to do this genome transformation today. She would not survive this! Far too many small steps in which far too much could go wrong and destroy the work of hours if you were not focused. And by God, she wasn't.

It was now two months since she moved to the Baker Street and Sherlock had explored every detail of her private life with a few glances. Frightening, disturbing and impressive at the same time. But she had not wanted to show it to him. Not this arrogant bastard, who had meant that he had the permission to uncover everything. No, she had not wanted to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he had been so damn right and somehow it had amused her that she had done it to defy herself a little and to throw him out of balance.

John had been pretty quiet during this afternoon, had vacillated between shock and amusement, and simply watched the spectacle. Catherine had to admit, that she liked Sherlocks humour- at least sometimes if he's not the cocky I-know-all-of-you Sherlock.

She had noticed quickly, that had not been able to hid something from the Consulting Detective and finally had answered all his questions, so that he would disappeared from her apartment. He had not realized how much troubled and restless he had made her and that she just had wanted him to stop putting salt within her wounds. The Biology was the only thing that was still complete, but even she broke slowly.

Then suddenly something had changed that day. Sherlock had become calmer, almost understanding when she had started to talk about her brother. Something that had irritated her, had made her more careful, but she had not noticed anything unusual. Sherlock simply had seemed to be interested in knowing more. He had asked for further information, but he had not been snide, still condescending. Perhaps he would help her?

Finally, John had told her the next day that Sherlock was consulted by Scotland Yard, but so far nothing happened. But finally nobody understood what just caught Sherlocks attention. It was a big mysterious as the date of the destruction of the world.

'He seems to like you…as much as he can.', John had told her a month ago, when Sherlock had left him alone after a storm of new ideas.

She did not even remember how many times Catherine have replaced the lock and finally she gave up.

Just in case, he would still have his picklock, Sherlock had even grinned. Seeking for help she had looked at John with an expression saying: 'He's not serious, isn't he?' But John had given her a tired look that made pretty clear that Sherlock was.

So she hasn't replaced the lock since then. Just the thought she could startled from the noise of the prick was frightening.

Catherine quickly repressed these memories and so many similar ones that burst over her. Sherlock unannounced visits had become an integral part of her- thanks to him- non –existing everyday life. Also calls during the work were no longer a rarity and she has not even the slightest idea where he had gotten her damn number. But with Sherlock Holmes nothing really surprised her anymore. She had wanted a boring life and got action. Maybe she should be more careful with her wishes in the future.

Bamm! As she was thinking about it, her door was slammed and Catherine already saw how Sherlock Holmes stormed- clothed in his dark coat- into her living room. Damn, why did not her apartment have a hallway? Why was he right in her living room? She sighed and turned around in her seat.

"How can I fake DNA?" Sherlock went like a bull at a gate and stayed with quivering nostril in the mid of her sitting area.

"Good morning, Sherlock." She yawned and just ran her fingers through her hair. Someday, she did not remember when, they called each other by their forename. There had been no consolation or agreement, at some point they had just called themselves by their first names.

John followed his flat mate a few moments later, threw an apologetic view towards her and wished her a good morning. Catherine nodded, returned the greeting, revealing a smile, but her attention was at Sherlock, who looked at her defiantly.

"To fake DNA? Are you serious?" Catherine dug deeper and throw a helpless view to John, who had already taken a seat on the couch. The usual ritual, which is even repeated late at night. No, Sherlock definitely knew no discretion and no societal norms. Well, she guessed he knew pretty well, he just did not care.

"Sherlock says that he knows the murderer of the Thames Series, but unfortunately the DNA does not fit." John said quietly and took out his notepad on which he wrote down every remark of Sherlock for his blog.

"Well, Sherlock. Then you should consider that you're probably wrong." Catherine said simply and grey-blue eyes watched her angrily.

"I'm never wrong." He repeated the words he had said to her as they had got known each other, only this time even more grimly. Catherine sighed and slumped in the chair. She put her hand to her chin, thought about it. She did not notice how Johns threw an amused look at her, because she did not even realized that she even took a little of Sherlocks body language.

"Well…everything is hypothetically, right?"

"Sure." She sighed deeply again and closed her eyes.

"So…you'd need…theoretically…the DNA of the person who you want to give the blame of the crime… and in a quantity that it would be forensically significant. Hmm…for reproductions are conditions like in a cell necessary…in vitro that will probably not work…you need natural environment…so we'd need in vivo."

"Isn't this possible with the PCR method?" Sherlock asked impatiently. Catherine shook her head.

"No… DNA is multiplied with it, that's true, but in this case you'd have to check by gel electrophoresis if the reproduction was right and afterwards the DNA is useless, because you can't get it out of the gel so easily. Nevertheless it would never be seen as a natural DNA. So we need DNA replication under in vivo condition. This requires polymerase, restriction enzymes and a cell…"

"As if I don't know that all." Sherlock said annoyed and gave her a sparkling look. "If I'd want to know that…"

"Pab!" She raised her hand and interrupted Sherlock. He gave her an irritated look. "Sherlock! You've asked me to think about something for ya hypothetical and to do so, I need to go along my Mindway. Yes, Sherlock, not everyone as an extraordinary mind palace like you, but I have to go through all the facts to find the answer. So do not interrupt me!"

"Catherine…" He sighed annoyed. "I don't want to push you under pressure, but a murder is still free. It's about human life. You are not too stupid. You did not get the free scholarship for less. Now prove why."

"Oh yes, very helpful, Sherlock. If this is not motivating. No pressure, no stress. " She yawned again. John laughed as Sherlock stomped angrily with a foot. It seemed to be really urgent and Sherlock seemed to be unable to find the solution, otherwise he would not be obviously impatient. Her thoughts drifted through all of her knowledge about cell division, different cell types, cell proliferation and nucleus multiplication. It seemed to be really important, but her tiredness made it impossible to think. She murmured the facts over and over again and this time Sherlock remained silent. Suddenly an absurd idea matured in her head. She was shockingly easy, but theoretically possible. She quickly turned around in her chair.

"Where is it? …Bloody mess!" She cursed and rummaged through her textbooks. Where are her documents of cell molecular biology and animal physiology? Damn movement! Nothing was in his usual place. Maybe she should better google it. Quick as a flash, she flew over known scientific webpages and studied the articles. When she finished after a few minutes, she just laughed and shook her head.

"What?" John asked now and slipped in front of the couch.

"That's not…" She was still laughing and banged her head on the table. "It's so easy. So damn easy. Every biology student could do it." She was still overwhelmed and shook her head.

"You have an idea?" Sherlock asked and stepped beside her, leaning forward to look that the opened homepage.

"Sherlock…" She said breathlessly and looked at him. "It's shockingly easy." Then she pointed out a passage as she marked it with the mouse.

Sherlock unconsciously put a hand on her back to bend down better.

"I have no idea if it works in practice. But in theory…that throws back the whole coroner." She went on and now even john stood up to look at her discovery.

"What have you discovered?" Said the deep voice of John. Sherlock's baritone was heard as well, when he stopped reading the section:

"The white blood cells?" He drew his conclusion from what Catherine had shown him.

"Why the leucocyte?" John repeated irritated.

"Just think about it…" Catherine said impatiently. "Leucocytes are pluripotent. They're divided into the progenitor cell of blood cells and another stem cell. They are extremely durable and divide themselves more frequently than normal cells because of pluripotency. You just need to isolate them from the victim's blood. That's also possible in vitro…it's even made in stem cell donation. Then they multiply the DNA and afterwards you can mix them with the isolated red blood cells. Erythrocyte don't have DNA…"

"And if the two are mixed together, you could think, it's the blood of someone else. Oooooh, that's brilliant. Really brilliant." Sherlock eagerly clapped his hands.

"Catherine, can you try this out for me in your lab?" He called over her shoulder and stormed out of her apartment.

"What…Sherlock, I cannot…" He left behind a still stunned Catherine and a horrified John. Both blinked at each other and she leaned back so that the back of her chair was almost completely bowed.

"God…what have I done? Hopefully he does nothing…nothing sherlockian with it…" She did not know how to express it better. John sighed heavily and stroked his hair. A few minutes passed before Catherine dropped onto the sofa- tired and overwhelmed. She had not recently discovered what many researchers oversee? It could not be that easy? She just shook her head and sat down on the couch. It was too late for work already and she was devastated.

"Tired?" John asked quietly and sat down in front of her. She just nodded and closed her eyes.

"I did not sleep last night because I had to learn for an exam, but I was just thinking about lots of things." She sighed frustrated. "Even on biology I'm not able to concentrate anymore."

"Sherlock has an engaging personality." John grinned and stood up. "Tea?"

"Oooooh, yes, please!" She sighed with pleasure just because of the thought. "You know where everything is, right? Can I just make a call?"

"Sure." Smiled the old military doctor who had become a confidant. Probably it was because they had to cope with Sherlocks escapades and so had a common topic. That and biology, because medicine and biology were very close.

Catherine stood up and picked up her mobile phone. A SMS from Sherlock was deliberately ignored and called her lab.

"Hey Kathy…Catherine here. I'm feeling sick…I think I just caught the flue. London is pretty wet. I'm going to the doctor tomorrow. Could you do the transformation for me? Everything is already prepared. You only had to mate the H and H+ strain and put them into the incubator of 27°C. This would give me two days to recover. The other experiment I'm gonna start when I'm healthy again. Would you do that for me? And the other sample in the incubator put on the full medium and put them back? Please! Really? Oh you're a sweetheart, Kathy. Thank you! See you then." She hung up happily. At least a day of rest- if Sherlock allowed it. A day to organize her thoughts. She heard the clatter of Chinese porcelain and looked up tiredly. John came back into the living room and sat down, before he put down the coups. The wonderful scent of chamomile rose in her nose and she smiled gratefully.

"Thank you, John. That's a bless. I do not know how you could manage this trotting. Sherlock's worse than a sack of fleas."

"I would rather say 10." He grinned amused and took a sip. Catherine laughed and put his head back.

"Is it that simple?" She murmured at last after a few minutes and took a sip of tea thoughtfully.

"I don't know. I'm out of the material for too long, but it sounds logical."

"If it's like this, then it scares me, John. Then it becomes difficult for Sherlock to solve a case." Again silence came over the room like a heavy blanket and the beating of the clock was the only audible sound.

"Do not worry. Everything is gonna be alright." He tried to calm her down and smiled encouragingly, but it seemed contrived. He seemed to be restless as well.

"But I'm just a simple biology student… I'm sure there is something I have not considered. It's certainly not possible." It was a desperate attempt to calm her, but in reality, her nerves fluttered and she felt a little at the thought. What if she was not wrong? If it was really that easy? No…no. Catherine! Just don't think any further! It was only a hypothesis. Just a simple, silly hypothesis of a dump student. Nothing more! A silly thought experiment. Nothing but a mind game, a play with a thought…but one that Sherlock Holmes took seriously. So it might not be quite so far-fetched…but…oh, damn it!

"Do not think about it." John's calm voice shot through her thoughts. Catherine looked over at him. John looked back at her and then shook his head noticeably, let his gaze wandered and seemed to have decided to change the subject.

"Something new from your brother?" He asked cautiously after some time and put his head on his folded hands. Catherine looked at him with a sad look and shook her head.

"I did not find the time to do some research. And somehow I hoped that Sherlock might help me." She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and took a sip of tea to flush away the appearing sadness. That had been the reason why she had moved here, why she had left her birthplace Cardiff, but the authorities, Sherlock and her study robbed all of her time, so it was still a step progress.

"I'm sorry, Catherine." She just shook her head and sat up.

"It's not your fault, John. Not even Sherlock's, even if he keeps me on my toes, just mine, because I'm not able to organize my life." She sighed once again, ran through her yet dishevelled hair and then giggled nearly crazy.

"I could have such a quiet life…" John laughed too and sat back.

"You can check that off with Sherlock."

"Is he even able to sit calmly?"

"Yeah…but just for a second." Catherine laughed and then closed her eyes.

"Everything is a bit too much, huh?"

"That's an understatement. The study already costs all my strength, then Sherlock's sudden appearance and disappearance nearly kills me. I like him…sort of…but…" She waved helplessly her hand through the air.

"He has no timing."

"To say the least. Woe you don't jump immediately when he calls. No matter what you're doing. I cannot try this out in the lab. How shall I explain it to the Professor?"

"Just let it be. Sherlock would not believe it until he had checked it out by himself."

"How are you able to get along with him, John? Really…his genius in all honour, but…" She stopped when she heard footsteps rushing up the stairs. John gave her only an understanding look, then turned to the door through which Sherlock came out of the blue. Irritated he remained in the doorway.

"Where have you been, John? We have something to do." He demanded impatiently.

"So then…" John said as he stood up. "The action is calling." He grinned at Catherine, who smiled back and looked thankful at the tea cups. Then he followed Sherlock out of the door. Just before they left her apartment, Sherlock hesitated and looked back at her.

"Israel." He said barely.

"What?" She blinked confused.

"You can order faked blood in Israel." The curly head replied before he almost disappeared. Catherine stopped breathing and her stomach began to rebel. Dizziness and nausea overran her as she realized what she had just revealed from Sherlock. Cold sweat ran down her back and she tried to calm herself. It was true. It was possible. Oh God! What kind of world was this? Her body trembled and she tried to calm her with deep breaths, but it was unsuccessful.

Her eyes went to the table, where the coups still remained. She slowly got up and suddenly a flu did not sound like a lie anymore. Her limps ached and her head was deserted. What she had just discovered? She was scared. If you could even fake the DNA in what kind of world they lived? In one, where you could no longer believe in Justice. Where each case must be reopened, because it could be a misjudgement. Only the unusual high concentration of leucocyte would make faked blood dividable. How easy it would be to attach a crime to someone? So simple that it grabbed at her like claws. What had she done? Her hand trembled as she picked up the cups carefully and carried them into the kitchen. She washed the dished and stowed them afterwards. Briefly she hesitated, but decided then to distribute the queasy feeling in her stomach by eating something. A view within the fridge got her back into reality. Frustrating. Time management had always been her strength.

Well, it was like that. Catherine went to the dresser, grabbed her jacket, and left her apartment hastily for taking the tube, which was coming in three minutes. She did not notice the eyes following her steps and that her life would be changed by Sherlock and John more than she would ever believe. Much more.


	3. 2 Chapter: A funny drama

2. Chapter: A funny Drama

_Boring_! Sherlock groaned annoyed and let his eyes wander over his apartment. Since the series of murders had been solved a week ago with Catherines help, it had become incredibly quiet and now he was bored to death.

Lestrade had no new case for him and now he squatted here and did not know what to do with his time. Catherine had thrown him out several times and made more than clear that he should not come over without a serious reason or by invitation, because their study was very time consuming and she could not need any disruption. John also watched carefully, that Sherlock would not bother her.

Too bad somehow. Not that he liked the girl, but she had potential. She had shown it in his last case. Although she was not nearly as intelligent as him with some fine tuning he could sharpen her mind maybe a little, but now he could not even go over. Frustrated, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. And why did he actually care about the forbid? Why did he accept it? Normally, he never avoided a confrontation.

Well, he thought, and rummaged through the pile of files, newspapers and printing. Where he had just put it? The consulting detective snorted frustrated, looking at every opportunity, but he did not find the file. Well, he had not classified it as a high priority and thrown it somewhere, but he could use it now to spend some time. The idea to clean up for spending his time did not appear in his mind, it never did. Had never occurred to him. Mrs. Hudson had also given up on convincing him, as well as John. When it became too much for John, he finally did it himself.

Now he had to search for it, but how was it said? Only a genius dominates the chaos. Then finding a stupid should not be such a challenge, right? He was finally a fucking genius and a high-functional sociopath. So where had he put this damn file? Think about it, Sherlock, just think! What was he thinking? He always thought. He could not stop it, he needed to think like to breathe. An annoyed sigh dropped from his throat and discovered the file on the end table. The end table! Some things seemed to be obvious. Sherlock exhaled softly and opened the folder.

Lestrade had not wanted to give out the folder. This case was considered as solved and it displeased the detective inspector that Sherlock wanted to deal with him. He had seen it in the eyes of the grey-haired man. Normally Sherlock just took cases that were interesting, but that one was frightening unspectacular. Maybe a bit too unspectacular, Sherlock thought. It looked like a normal holdup murder, but something did not fit into the picture. Thoughtfully, he flipped through the witness statements, crime scene photos and the forensic report. Nothing seemed to contradict this assumption. Jeffrey Amell had been killed, when he surprised the intruder was the conclusion. But why should Catherine not been allowed to see her brother? Why did nobody tell her where her brother was buried so that she was able to say goodbye? Not that Sherlock understood why people had this need, but he knew how helpful it was and often he had seen how the young woman suffered from the situation. How much she was overwhelmed.

Maybe he had just carried his escaped to excess with her, but it was probably his quirky way to distract her. He did not assure to help her of finding the murderer, and Catherine had never asked for it, but it could be totally worthless to just have a watch. It was something about his boredom, so it could not be all that wrong, right? Just for the time when John was working or Sherlock did not have a case. It had nothing to do with a human relationship. She had something to offer against his boredom and he used it. That was the only reason why he was having an eye on it. Not because of her. It had nothing to do with her.

The question was: What did not fit into the picture? Something was wrong with that case, Sherlock could nearly feel it. Nothing had been stolen. So what had been the motivation? A murder for nothing? The burglar had hardly been so incompetent, because his preparation of the predation showed that he had been well prepared. No one would do such a burden just to kill a man and run away without prey. So either it was premeditated murder and the burglary was used as a cover or it had been something in house of which no one knew. Something valuable. Mycroft probably could help him, but Sherlock would never call his brother. The chance to get samples of the crime scene was pretty low. It had already cost him all of persuasion to get the case file. All these things were making it more than strange. Maybe he should just get into it a little more.

Catherine sighed and closed the front door of 220 Baker Street. She did not feel well on this Friday evening, but she had no other choice. Nate, a colleague from her lab, had been begging for a date quite a long time and was running after her like a faithful dog until she had agreed frustrated- in hope that she could somehow pennant him that she wanted nothing for him. Not that Nate was obnoxious, greasy or anything like that. He was just not her type and she was not currently interested in a relationship. It was even hard to manage her life right now and Nate was just an affectionate unique guy. Nevertheless, she had had wide strike and saw against a seemingly endless Friday night full of hypocritical compliments and drooling dog eyes. Wonderful.

She sighed annoyed and looked around for a taxi, but could not see any cab. A stiff breeze blew across the tarmac and let her shiver in her far too thin dress, the Peeptoes and her leather jacket. It was really unpractical clothed for the Londons late fall. There were about five degrees and a murky soup of clouds veiled the moon. Rather she wanted to trudging through the streets in a sweater, wool coat and boots, but she had to at least keep up the impression that she had accepted the invitation for a dinner with serious intentions and that she did not want to let the date burst from the beginning. Hopefully.

Catherine sighed again. Nate was a work colleague with whom she worked very closely together. If she would hurt his feelings, then that could cause serious harm to the working environment, while she had noticed anyway the looks that some of the scientist threw at her. Since Catherine was always rather introverted and fixed on her work, she was regarded as arrogant and cocky. Something that was far away from the truth, but unfortunately no one could see behind the man's head. Well, nobody except Sherlock. But maybe it was quite good. Would be bad indeed if every person would be able to make such deductions. There would be no more secrets in the world. She smiled. No, it was good that it was only a fucking bastard of Sherlock in the world with who she had to bother. This one was far enough.

She let her eyes wander again and still no taxi in sight. What the hell was going on here? The Baker Street was in the centre of London and she could not get a damn cab? National Lampoon. Apparently fate did not want her to come to her date.

Frustrated, she tapped on the asphalt in her way too high shoes and wondered briefly if she should take the Metro, but rejected the idea pretty fast. In this clothes? She was not completely stupid. They were cumbersome, impractical and could possibly provide some of the pushy passengers to see it as an invitation for a quickie. Oh no, no, subway was deleted. And wasn't it like that the girl let the guy wait for her? She thought that she had read something like these women's magazines. She had no experience in dates and just hated it to get tarted up. Normally not a good start for a date, but she did not consider it as such- it was more like a damage control- it might be helpful to her. Maybe she would even scare Nate with her ignorance and he would stop this disaster date. Yeah, that sounded good.

Catherine walked down the street to look around the corner for a cab, while she buried her hands deeply in her pockets. If things went well, there would be sleet tonight.

Suddenly she saw a movement in the corner of her eyes, as she turned to stumble to nearest street corner. A man in a black wool coat came towards her, his head bowed against the icy wind, the black curly hair dancing in the wind. Like he had noticed her view, he looked up and grey-blue eyes looked sceptically at her from top to bottom, but then he went back to the impassive, delicate dace with the high cheekbones.

"Catherine." Said Sherlock and stopped in front of her.

"Oh, hey Sherlock." She replied somewhat scattered and blinked against the sharp wind that it brought tears to her eyes and endangered her make up.

"Where are you going?" He asked, cocking his head.

"As if you do not already know that." She gave back a bit snappier than intended. Sherlock sighed and one of his otherwise perfect-sized curls from her face.

"Why do you go on this date then if you do not want to?" One of his eyebrows moved upwards. "Apart from the fact that you gonna catch a cold in these clothes."

"We both know that cold weather is not responsible for it, Sherlock. It does not transfer pathogens." She fixed him snippy and huffed annoyed. She had not wish to have a Small Talk of Sherlocks kind. She just wanted to bring this evening this evening behind her, hiding under her blanket and sleep the whole weekend and by the way- how strange that sounded, how she manage her priority- writing on her final thesis.

"But it weakens the immune system. So why are you going?"

"Damage mitigation. A guy from work toddles after me since I've started in the lab. I will finish it neatly today."

"Pretty nasty of you. To make him bright eyes in this clothes and then polish him off. Could almost come from me." He grinned slightly, but only earned an annoyed look.

"I just don't want him to get unnecessary hopes." She said and stomped her foot.

"So what? It wouldn't make any difference." Sherlock shrugged. "For him it will be like this." She closed her eyes and leaned against the brick wall of her house.

"What shall I do, Sherlock?" She asked with jittering teeth and blew her warm breath against her now numb hands. "Nate is a nice guy, really. Not arrogant, not conceited, good in his job, but he's intrusive and runs after me like a stray dog, which you have given something to eat. I don't want to hurt him and preserve the good working atmosphere."

She was desperate. How could she get out of this mess? Nate had made repeatedly clear to that he was madly in love with her and she did not know how to get out of it.

"You're just asking me what to do? Of all people?" Sherlock laughed and shook his head. Catherine sighed and closed her eyes. Only because he was her last hope. John was on a date and he just said the same as Kathy: Go out for a dinner with him and make clear, that you're not interested. But Catherine doesn't want to. Everything in her fought with all power against this idea. Somehow she hoped that the social incompetent Sherlock had a crazy idea that she might have overseen.

"Please, Sherlock. Isn't my question showing that I am truly desperate?" The Consulting Detective hesitated and thought.

"You're not wrong…hmm." He weighed his head back and forth. Then he grinned. "I have an idea."

"Somehow I have the feeling that your idea ends in tears, despair and a deliciously amused Sherlock."

"Well, hopefully." He replied and let Catherine snorted. Well gorgeous. That was going to be wonderful. If Sherlock had fun, the most people in his environment suffered. Only John and sometimes even she seemed to escape this cruse, managed somehow to stay at his side without becoming crazy. It was not always easy, not at all, but somehow they managed it, because they could made fun out of his behaviour.

"What kind of idea do you have?" Somehow she had the feeling that she would regret this question directly.

"How about a little…drama?" Again a smile twitched his full lips and Catherines discomfort grew. What was this guy gonna to do?

"What…kind of drama?" She asked hesitantly.

"An amusing one." He answered ominous and Catherine knew she would get no further information.

"So I may act spontaneously? Great…I'm a bad actress."

"I'm all the more better when it counts. Humans are so easy to manipulate."

"Oh Sherlock!" She exclaimed and somehow she was not in shock. Not even surprised. It was Sherlock Holmes with whom she spoke here. He just looked back at her in amusement and his expressive eyes glommed. Something that troubled Catherine more than anything else and she avoided his gaze.

"Just drive up. I'm coming later."

"After what?" Her eyes flicked to the two plastic bags, which he held in his hands. An eyebrow moved upwards. "Once you have stored your purchases for your experiments in the fridge?" Catherine knew that Sherlock never shopped, so it could only be more body parts for his experiments. As for the inauguration, she had once unknowingly opened the fridge and discovered a sunken skull. Startled, she had been lurching back, struggling against the nausea. Of course the skull had not stunk. As long as it was not warm enough, microorganisms did not decompose the meat and it did not stink, but it had not been appetizing. Sherlock and John just laughed in the meantime, while Catherine had thrown them an angry look, but after a few minutes she had to grind and she threw a pillow into Johns face as a punishment what caused Sherlock to laugh even louder.

"Where do you actually get them? Do you go to the pathology like in a supermarket and say 'Oh, that skull looks great today. I would like to have it. Would you wrap it for me, please? And oh yes, from this one I would like to have the liver and over there…the woman…her fingers would be really great." She broke her own memories with a sarcastic tone in her voice as she looked at Sherlock. The strange Sherlock Holmes.

"Something like that." He said in a sober tone, just a little twitch in his mouth showed the fun he had. "From you I would like to have the liver as well. So beautiful fresh. Without drugs, alcohol and cigarettes.

"Sherlock." She shrieked and slapped him on the arm. He merely rubbed his ears and laughed softly.

Then he left her briefly and went to the road, hailed a taxi. The braked of the black car squealed when Sherlock almost threw himself right in front of it to prevent it to drive away. Catherine rolled her eyes and went a little unsteady on her high heels after him. Like the perfect gentleman, he opened the door for her and he kindly smiled at her, but the look in his eyes did not fit it. Like a contrived act. It seemed simply not true. Or she just thought she simply knew Sherlock too well to believe this small gesture- or both.

She stopped in the doorway, looked back searched in his face. A strong gust of wind came up again, let the hair of both dancing, but Sherlock kept the smile and helped her into the car. As he closed door, Catherine leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. That was gonna be fun. That look in his eyes was not a good sign. Should she feel sorry for Nate? But she had to admit that she was curious about what Sherlock planned. More curious as she secretly wanted to admit. She quickly sent a SMS with the address to Sherlock and then closed her eyes, bracing herself for whatever may come.

Oh, he could have been really sorry for Nate. Really sorry. As he sat and adored Catherine so obviously was almost unbearable. Now Sherlock understood why she had said something of incredibly intrusive. His dark eyes sparkled when she just moved and he spoke in a tour so that he did not even notice that Catherine was looking around for help all the time. That the situation was uncomfortable would probably saw even a blind, but Nate was this totally unresponsive.

Now he wanted to feed her. Sherlock shook his head. It was fortunate that he had no feelings or he would act so stupid as well. Why did Nate have to act like a monkey? Although, no…even monkey were not so pathetic. He almost crawled in front of her, begging for her attention and love while Catherine herself was more than overwhelmed with this unpleasant situation. Restless, she slid into the seat in the Italian restaurant, playing on her bracelet and ran her fingers through her hair nervously.

Sherlock would not need any prior information to assess the situation within a minute. If Sherlock had had a heart, he might have had pity on the poor rooster, but he had none. Perhaps he would have otherwise changed his mind and restructured the game, but the fantasy in his head had taken a far too tempting figure. This body would certainly get a big shock, but Sherlock did not care. Sherlock wanted to have some fun.

Certainly, he could have explained his game further to Catherine, but he was too interested of how she would react and she could be useful for the game. He saw it as an experiment. An experiment on human behaviour and he would not call off because the guy courted so desperately for attention. His reaction would certainly be fun. Well then, opened the curtain! Sherlock opened the door to the Italian restaurant and immediately a loud chatter hit him and the smell of pasta and brummagem Italian music. Of course, a first date scene like in the picture. He could understand Catherines misery. To survive here it was necessary to blurt so many pink hearts out as the rest of the couples. All others would break out in a rash from all this kitsch. What should these paintings represent on the wall at all? Venice at night? That was never ever the Rialto Bridge. The architecture was not true in the slightest and he heard "oooh amore mio" all the time that it turned his stomach around. When Catherine least would have chosen Angelos, then the atmosphere would not have been so overloaded. But he guessed she was not so stupid to choose a restaurant for an involuntary Date, which was in the immediate neighbourhood of her apartment. Just as Nate adored Catherine so much, Sherlock wold expect him to follow her and maybe even bring a serenade in Romeo style below her balcony. Oh please not! He could do without it.

A grin spread across Sherlocks face when he changes his body language. He lowered his eyebrows, put his face in deep, angry folds and thrust his hands into his pockets as he prevented easily through the crowd of waiter and headed directly to the table in the far corner of the restaurant. The place was really well attended, making it almost like a gauntlet run to get there. He saw attempts of reconciliation from fresh couples and old couples who were trying to revive her married life- most of them at least one had an affair. Sherlock could even see that out of his eyes corner.

But when he had crossed the restaurant almost completely, his focus shifted again and he stamped angrily to the table where Catherine and Nate sat.

"You!" He pressed between his teeth and slammed his fist on the table. Both startled and looked up. Catherine drew a bill from him, squeezed into the corner of the bench, while Nate looked completely confused between Sherlock and her.

"S…" She paused and looked up at him with wide eyes. Her gazes were answered grimly. "Sebastian! What are you doing here?" Oh, her mind was really not as slow as most of the people. Surprisingly, she thought about changing the name although this unexpected situation. This move held Sherlock out of the history and if she eventually forgot about this lie and was going to say Sherlocks name in the laboratory no one would be sceptical. And especially not the little blue-eyed Nate. Clever girl, very clever.

"What am I doing here?" He snorted and pressed his lips together to for a narrow slit while his fist was shaking on the table. "I ask you, what you're doing here, Catherine! You said you'd go out with Marianna! And then I catch you here…with…with…this bastard!" Good, his voice was trembling. He wondered about if he should be hanging out the angry father or at least the lover, but he had opted for the second option. Sure, father was more likely because of the age, but they do not even look a bit similar and he did not know if Catherine had ever told that her parents were dead. No, lover was easier.

"Ca…Catherine…what's going on?" Nate asked uncertainly and looked at her. Sherlocks head immediately went around to him and his eyes narrowed to small slit. So that was Nate. Approximately 1, 86 cm. No exactly 1, 86, big, green eyes, brown hair. His gaze moved down on the young man. He was 25 years old and a research associate with Professor Niels laboratory as Catherine already told him. His fingers were manicured, so it seemed likely that he was a bioinformatics and was not so often in contact with chemical solutions. Sport also did not seem to be his area. His figure was slim, which he tried to hide with his clothes. He wore a blue suit, which should look expensive, but Sherlock saw that the seams were cheap. His gaze wandered to Catherine once again, who listlessly poking into her pasta with truffles and looked down shyly. At least she had taken something expensive to get more benefit from this situation. Yes, the woman was not really stupid. Then he fixed Nate again, who backed away scared. Oh, also a coward. Great.

"Se…Sebastian. It's not what you think!" Catherine stammered overwhelmed and gripped his arm. He shrugged shortly- out of reflex- and pulled his arm away. His gaze was cold. He did not like to be touched. It grossed him out, but it was useful this time.

"How is it then?" Sherlock whispered dangerously calm, his voice only a thin flicker like you were standing on thin ice.

"He's…just a work colleague." She tried to reassure him, looked at him with big blue eyes, but Sherlock snorted and leaned forward so far that he could feel her breath on his skin. He smelled a light eau de toilette. Light, sweet, vibrant. She had exerted herself for creating a perfect masquerade. The way she looked now, it could possibly turn the boys head. Not that he knew about something like this or it even interested him.

"…A co-worker?" Sherlock repeated incredulously, raising an eyebrow. His face was only inches away from Catherines. For Nate it should look like if he was piercing her with his eyes, but in reality he just wanted to see how Catherine would react. How this not so stupid girl would deal with the situation.

Catherine returned his gaze, flickered briefly and confusion blinked in her eyes, but then she get back in her role. She took a deep breath, petted her hair behind an ear and avoided his eyes, looked down to the floor.

"E…excuse me, sir. I…I did not…." Appeared Nates confused voice. As fast as a Cobra, Sherlock spun around and tortured him with his icy look. Sherlock did not really care about this guy who was so meek, timid and stupid. Sherlock could not care less. He was so ordinary. Swallowing, Nate squeezed into the back and he seemed to be afraid of Sherlock.

"You! You're dating my girlfriend?" He snarled.

"I…You…Catherine, you've never…" He stammered, horrified and now this game really started to have fun. It was so easy to get him out of the socket. He would not fight, Sherlock could see this. He had never fought, neither when his parents divorced, his girlfriend cheated on him nor he had been bullied at school. It was so easy to use all this against him. To bring him into the most embarrassing situation of his life.

"Sebastian…please! We've broken up. I…I…"

"We break up? WE BREAK UP?" He hissed. "And why do you look at me like you are caught red handed?"

"I…I did not want to…" Nate tried to explain.

"Shut up, you bastard!" Continued Sherlock to him and slammed his fist next to his plate with the steak. "Unless you want to leave without your dick."

Catherine was surprised when she heard these words from Sherlocks mouth. She had only ever heard him annoyed, calm or agitated, but his deep baritone had never been crossed by anger. If she had not known that it was a drama by him, it would have really scared her. He had not understated, Sherlock was a really good actor. So good that she did almost feel sorry for Nate. Her alleged Date sat in a corner and tried to escape, but Sherlocks icy gaze held him captive.

"Sebastian…please…let's talk about it peacefully." It was not easy to hit a lovely tone, but she managed it somehow. What was Sherlock expecting from this game? He was amused, that was easy to say if you were a bit familiar with his body language. But was the jealous lover making any sense? Would that not increase the rumours in her lab? Did Sherlock play this game just for his own benefit? It would not be surprising.

Her gaze slid to Sherlock, was looking for a hint, but found none. Her alleged lover took just a trembling breath and gave her such a piercing look, that she was frozen. If she did not know that he was playing a game here, she would really get scared. These eyes could possible throw knives.

"Sebastian…honey…" Oh heaven, this sounded so weird! So weird that it was hardly ran over her lips. Briefly she looked at Sherlock. He looked back at her and grinned, but poor Nate could see it, because Sherlock had turned his back towards him. God help her, it was so hard not to start laughing. Was she crazy, because it started to make fun? First she had felt uncomfortable because she did not know what Sherlock had planned and whether she would play credible, but he made it easy for her. He played skilfully with her natural reactions, took advantage of her surprise and interpreted it in a different way.

"Please, let me explain." She begged, wringing her hands, while it took all her strength not to laugh. From the corner of her eye she saw how Nate tried to steal away secretly, but with an unobtrusive look in his direction she lead Sherlocks attention to him. He nodded slightly and turned back to Nate, fixing him with an admonishing look.

"I warn you, my friend." He said with a trembling voice and held one of his delicate fingers in front of Nates nose. "If you tell anyone of this, then God should be with you. Then I'll come and give you hell, do you understand?" Nate nodded hastily, grabbed his jacket, slammed money on the table and disappeared so quickly out of the restaurant as if the devil himself was after him.

"Speedy Gonzales would be envious of him." Finally it was Catherine who broke the silence.

"Who?" Sherlock asked irritated.

"Well, Speedy Gonzales…the…oh, never mind. I forgot who I'm talking to. Of course you don't know who Speedy Gonzales is." She waved it aside and then replied his gaze.

"Thank you, Sherlock. I would not hold out any longer. Let's go, alright? I want to stay here no longer."

"At least he had the decency to pay." Stated Sherlock and smiled again. Catherine showed the waiter, that the money was on the table, grabbed her leather jacket and left the restaurant together with Sherlock.

A strong wind still blew through the night and the usual soup of clouds moved across the sky of London. Catherine put on her jacket and buried her hands in her pockets. She leaned against the wall and looked up at the sky. Sherlock stood beside her and looked around for a taxi.

"Do you want to eat something? You have not touched your pasta." He suggested and gave her a quizzical look. Catherine raised an eyebrow. Sherlock Holmes invited her? This evening was really getting crazy.

"No, thank you. I've had enough Sherlock for today." She grinned at him. "I think the image of the angry lover will not vanish too soon."

"But you enjoyed it." Said Sherlock with satisfaction.

"Oh yes! Very much." She chuckled and rubbed her nose. "Nates face when you hit the table. Divine. I swear if I had not known better, your eyes have scared me." Sherlock smiled only because of the compliment and managed to hail a cab.

"I do not think he will invite you again."

"I hope not." Sighed Catherine. "This could be really unpleasant."

"Otherwise I just appear again." She got into the car carefully and looked up at Sherlock.

"Don't you want to join?" She asked confused.

"No…I'm going to eat something…and not in such a kitsch restaurant." Catherine shook her head, smiling and then giggled at him.

"All right. Then good night, Sherlock." With these words, the black car drove away. Completely killed by this evening, Catherine leaned back in the seat.

/London, London. You've gotten really interesting. Who would have thought that it could be so funny to live next door with a high functional sociopath?/


	4. 3 Chapter: Another view on the world

3. Chapter: A slightly different view of the world

John came back home earlier as he had originally planned on this Friday evening. The reason had been a heated argument with his girlfriend Jeanette. Sherlock had written him a text message once again while they had been cuddling and he had made the fatal decision to answer him. He had had to decide: Trouble with Sherlock and his following SMS terror or a snapped Jeannette, because he dismissed her again for Sherlock.

After thinking about it for a time, he had then decided to reply to Sherlock. He had to bring milk and for this banality so much trouble. Jeanette had not liked it- naturally- and she had thrown at him that he only had a relationship with Sherlock. Funny. He had heard that a couple of times. Also from his others girlfriends. Mostly they had broken up because of that reason. Of course this was absurd, he was not gay, but it gave him something to think about.

John sighed and took a bit of scotch out of the closet, went back into the living room. At least Sherlock was not at home, or he would get to hear some saying and John really did not need this now. He wanted to organize his thought in peace and Sherlock was anything but helpful. Not useful at all. Why had he done that? Every time when Sherlock called, he jumped like an obedient dog. No wonder that his girlfriends believed that he rather had a relationship with him, but that was not that easy. This strange relationship with him was more complicated than John could simply explain it. It was detached from such simple words as love, friendship and loyalty.

Sherlock did not need him. Well, maybe for shopping and cooking, but all in all he could just do research, gathering information and checking things for him. Even then, in the third game of Moriarty, where John had been so sure that he had solved the case, he had been wrong. He still did not quite understand how Sherlock was able to do all these things, but it impressed him. It impressed him more than anything else.

Yet Sherlock was still an arrogant guy with clearly too much self-confidence. John actually had hated this kind of people, but this was how it went out. He lived here together with a functional sociopath- as Sherlock called himself- solved crimes together with him and strangely enough: it worked. Even better than John admitted to himself. Although it was not easy to admit, John did not mind about Sherlock otherness. Sure, he was often irritated, annoyed or shocked, but all of this made his life kind of interesting. It was like a war, but John knew that these people, whom they arrested, were really evil. In the war itself he had made way too many thoughts about the ones he had killed, in which eyes he had looked when they died. Were they fathers? Husbands? Brothers? Sons? These issues had never released him. The people on the other side had wanted to kill him…but John had never been able to say that they had been truly evil. Finally…they fought for their country, for their home. Just like him.

John shook his head, put the glass of scotch away and walked restlessly through the house. Too many thoughts were running through his head, made him uneasy. He had to start to understand what he was expecting from his friendship with Sherlock. He had to figure out what he wanted otherwise he would never be able to manage his private life.

Suddenly John noticed something and stopped. A file was lying neatly on the chair in which Sherlock was normally sitting. Almost as if he had put it away and then stood up calmly. That was unusual, if you were watching the mess in the living room of 221b. Towers of files, notes and printout piled up ominously on the desk, swaying back and forth as they would fall over at any moment. Sherlock was never been a man of order in his living space. He laid everything somewhere just to become angry when he was not able to found it. John sighed. Why would such a brilliant mind waste his time with household? That was impossible. That could be made by the light guide John Watson if it bothered him, but alas he changed something important. John just tidied up in the most extreme cases, when he could not even make a step in the apartment, otherwise he avoided it to just lie away something little.

Therefore it irritated John that this file was not thrown somewhere carelessly, staying out of the chaos like a high light. He hesitated briefly, quarrelled with his urge to provoke any trouble with Sherlock, but finally he took it, sat down in the chair and began to read.

It did not take long before he realized what case it was. It was the act of the murder of Catherines brother, because the name was written thickly on a small piece of paper on the file. When Sherlock had gotten it? John frowned, but he did not want to think about and so started reading through the numbers of reports. Soon he reached the same conclusion that Sherlock had reassumed a few hours ago. Something was wrong. Therefore were no epical skills in deduction needed, no superior intellect. There was something fishy about this.

Since he was traveling with Sherlock, John had developed a kind of sense when something was going to be bigger than you actually suspected. Many described it as paranoia, that it was a consequence of his PSD, but John was beginning to understand that there was more behind the world as many saw. Suddenly he heard the doorbell ringing and startled out of his thoughts. Irritated, he frowned. It was too long for a client and too long for Lestrade as well and Mycroft would have phoned him before.

John stood up slowly, walked to the door and opened it. Catherine stood before him- in the doorway- her hair was slightly frizzy by the fog that settled gradually over London. She was shivering in her cold chic, red dress. It was a strange view, John just knew her in jeans and a shirt, but he could not deny noticing that she was pretty. A slender young woman, with curves and long, brown hair, which slightly curled in the tips and intelligent, sea-blue eyes.

"Oh, you're already here, John." Catherine said irritated and barrowed her slim head. Obviously she did not expect that someone to be home. "Did you have a fight with…Jeannette?" John just rolled his eyes and sighed.

"You could say that…Do you want to come in?" John offered kindly.

"I wanted to ask if you have sugar. I have none anymore and I absolutely need some coffee."

"I could need one as well." John sighed and walked into the apartment. "We could drink one together." Catherine hesitated for a moment and wondered if she really should talk to John, finally, she just wanted to sleep, but she felt that he did not want to be alone and that was why she wanted to do him a favour. She nodded briefly to John, who had gone to the kitchen and took place in the living room.

"My goodness, what a mess…" She murmured as she let her gaze wandering through the apartment. "And I thought my flat is untidy."

Catherine had already been here once or twice and it had been as messy as it was now. At that time, she had thought that they were just right in a case and had not found the time to clean up. Now it seemed that this possibility was excluded.

"It always looks like this." Said John, who had heard it and was coming back with two cups of coffee. "Sherlock does not think much about cleaning up."

"Would be a wonder if…" Catherine shook her head and looked at the doctor.

"Do you want milk in your coffee?" He asked her as he put the try on the table.

"Yes, please." John nodded and gave her a cup. A warm scent filled the room and Catherine gratefully sank into the pillow of the chair. She was still completely frozen by the icy night, the fog had penetrated her to the bone and the crackling fire vanished the clammy feeling from her body.

"I do not know how women could take it. In these clothes you are indeed frozen to death." Murmured Catherine and rubbed her arms.

"Well…it's like that." John handed her a fine ceramic cup with a gold trim and the familiar smell of coffee rose in her nose, let her hands tingle.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." The doctor sat down in the other armchair and the two just took a big gulp of coffee. The warm drink finally drove away the coldness from her body and Catherine closed her eyes. So it happened that they just sat in front of the warm fire for a few minutes, drinking coffee and enjoyed the quiet without Sherlock. Then she opened her eyes and looked at John.

"So…what happened? I thought Jeanette and you wanted to go into the cinema." Catherine was briefly looking at her watch and frowned. "The film should be over in an hour."

John sighed, settled back into his chair and rubbed his eyebrows. His blue eyes looked tired at her and the light of the fire, which was reflected on his face, made him look old. Oh dear, how much had Sherlock kept him on his toes? And where did the Consulting detective get all this energy from?

"Sherlock has happened." He said wearily, stroking though his hair. "Who else?"

"SMS?"

"I should get some milk." His voice was dyed black from the mockery and he rolled his eyes."

"And thus began the spat." Catherine sighed and took another sip. Of course it had started. Sherlock did not tolerate delays and even when it came to the most mundane things like bringing some mil. John had complained about it quite often.

"Jeanette was not amused."

"Naturally…" Catherine said after some weighing. She did not know how to behave. Should she agree with John or not? Did he actually care about the relationship with the teacher? She was not so sure, but probably John did not want to hear that. Jeannette was the second girlfriend of John, she has got to know and with Jeannette's precursor it ended because of a quite similar reason. Sherlock. Of course because of Sherlock. At that time John had been depressed and came over to her and told frustrated that they all had thrown at him that he had a relationship with Sherlock. But he wasn't even gay.

Catherine had been surprised that he had come to her, but maybe he just needed a neutral person to talk to. She had felt literally that he had expected of her that she would dismiss this as foolishness. But to be honest, really all of it spoke for a relation, but she had not wanted to hurt John's feelings. Then she had needed all of her empathy to deal with this issue. She had hardly known John and there hadn't been this ratio who had allowed her to make jokes about it.

"And then I come back home with milk and Sherlock is not even here." John snorted frustrated and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I would be surprise if. Sherlock went out to have dinner." Catherine shrugged.

"Aaah…dinner…alright." John nodded quickly, then stopped and looked at her quizzically. Catherine looked back and cocked her head, shrugged her shoulders again.

"What? I met him when I went down to catch a cab for my date with Nate. He just came back from his shopping tour. So do not be surprised if you will find something in the fridge." John raised his brow and turned to the fridge, shuddered and said:

"Ok, I'm not gonna to eat the Shepards Pie anymore."

"You know that the bacteria are not transmitted in such coldness."

"Yes…" He admitted. "But it's not particularly appetizing anyway. No matter if you have medical knowledge or not."

"Understandable, John." She chuckled in amusement. John smiled slightly, but it did not reach his eyes completely.

"Do you think that things will become alright with Jeannette again?" John sighed deeply and closed his eyes.

"No, I don't think so. It's not the first time that I have left her for Sherlock. She was really pissed."

"Hmmm…I'm sorry, John. Really." John view was frustrated, but he shook his head.

"They're right. Every time Sherlock calls, I rush to him. I never actually arises the question of whether I should do it or not." His voice was getting quieter with every sentence.

"Sherlock does not leave a big choice." Catherine gave cause for a thought. John laughed joyless and stood up. With hasty steps he went to the glass case where they always kept their alcohol and fetched out a bottle of brandy. Carefully he filled his glass and sat down again.

"And? Did your date with Nate run at least better than mine?" He persisted after a few minutes and watched her. Catherine swallowed and avoided his gaze. The unease grew in her. She did not want to lie to John, because she trusted him and liked him, but she knew he would never approve of what she had done. John had the highest ethical standards and had been right. Nate had deserved it that she simply made it clear that a relationship would not be possible, but she had rather chosen the path of Sherlock.

"It went…well." She answered hesitantly and still avoided his look. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyed and waited for John to say something.

"He knows where he stands?"

"Oh yeah, definitely." She said hastily and nodded eagerly. Sherlock had made his point even more than clear.

"You know that you're a bad liar?" Johns voice sounded reproachful and he sighed quietly. "You cannot even look at me, Catherine."

Now she sighed and looked up. Johns blue eyes were searching for her and she knew she was not able to fool this sensitive man any longer. She had had her fun, now she had to wear the consequences.

"What have you really done, Catherine?" John folded his hands in his lap and frowned. Guilty, Catherine twisted her mouth and bit on her lower lip.

"Well…I…"

"Catherine…" John warned her and slide down in his chair. "You can really tell me anything. Just don't lie."

"But you won't approve of it." Catherine said shyly, running tired through her hair.

"Do you have so little faith in me?"

"No, I just have too much faith in you and that's exactly the problem. I don't want to let you down."

"Catherine…" He said again, this time more gently. "I live together with Sherlock. I've seen so many shocking things."

"You…you're right…well…Sherlock was…involved. " Restless, Catherine turned around the coffee cup in her hands.

"Wait…Sherlock was…what?" Repeated John incredulously and she heard him stop breathing.

"I was so desperate. I know it was not right, but when I was looking for a cab, he passed my way. He came straight from the pathology and, of course, he noticed immediately that I was on my way to a date to which I don't want to go. To put it mildly." She shook her head, sat back in her chair and covered her eyes.

John still watched her, did not even move and he said nothing. Something that let her discomfort increase. John was very humorous, always knowing a joke, but that he just looked at her and said nothing, let her feel dizzy. What had she done? It had been so much fun to play with Sherlock that she did not want to see the consequences. No, she had deliberately ignored them, because the game was much more appealing. That had been irresponsible and she had to pay the prize now. Even if it meant that she would disappoint John.

"He asked me why I was going at all, if I don't want to. He did not understand that I did it to save the working climate. Of course he didn't. Why should he understand that?" She shook her head and sighed deeply. "So I tried to explain it to him and he said that he had an idea how I would get out of this situation."

"Do not say that you've agreed in this, Catherine! You know how Sherlock is like. This could not go well." John interrupted her horrified. Catherine looked at him and laughed softly, but became louder and louder until he looked confused at her.

"Oh, things went out pretty well. Nate will never ever invite me again, I'm sure about this and we both had our bright fun."

"What…did you do?"

"We played a little drama." Catherine simply said and shrugged.

"Of which Nate had no idea."

"Of course not. Neither did I, as I must confess for my defence. Sherlock had not told me what he was going to do. Then he suddenly burst into the conversation, slammed his fist on the table and gave the jealous lover. Believe me, John. I was totally shocked." The doctor raised an eyebrow and he seemed to hardly fight against the impulse to laugh out loud.

"The jealous lover? He's able to act like one?" John asked incredulously. Catherine smiled a little and rubbed her chin.

"Yes, he can. He did not have to show love, just anger and jealousy and he's alarming good in it. Poor Nate had fled as fast as Speedy Gonzales."

"You're serious?" His blue eyes still blinked in disbelief. Catherine nodded hesitantly and then John could not suppress a laugh any longer. "I would like to see that."

"At least I had a lot of fun." Catherine said, giggling and she felt liberated. She had truly believed that John would yell at her, that he would tell her that she had been a bitch, but the imagination of Sherlock giving the jealous lover seemed to cover everything. She would regret it if this stupid joke- because it hadn't been more than this- would have destroyed the burgeoning relation with John.

"And he's gone to have dinner?"

"He has told at least." Catherine weighed her head back and forth. "But you never know if Sherlock has spontaneously a different idea." John sighed and shook his head slightly.

"At least he wanted to invite me. But to be honest…I had enough Sherlock for an evening. Believe me, John. It was so hard not to laugh. Sherlock was so over the top that I really thought would smell the feint. Sherlock acted wonderfully melodramatic, but his eyes had scared him too much." She chuckled. "And then I had to try at least to calm him down. So I had to butter him up. I really called him honey. It rarely went so hard over my lips. It was so weird. Sherlock…and honey…two words you're normally never using in the same sentence."

"My most sincere condolences…"

"Thank you." She laughed and brushed her hair over her shoulder. John shook his head with a smile.

"You should have gotten an Oscar for playing this role."

"Yeah, I should." She agreed eagerly and folded her hands in her lap. "But to be honest, it was pretty easy. Sherlock was playing with my surprise and used it for the game. If he wants to, he's a damn good actor and he really enjoyed it."

"This guy…" A slight smile crept into his voice and again he shook his head in disbelief. "You never know what's coming next."

"But that's what we really appreciate about him." Catherine smiled timidly, because she felt that Johns surprise slowly disappeared.

"Yes, that's right." John confessed then with a sigh. He took another sip from the glass and looked at it thoughtfully. Catherine felt that he was being thoughtful again. Not only because of what she had done, but also of how far Sherlock already controlled his life. His eyes wandered around the room, remained at the skull above the fireplace and a mirthless smile played around his lips.

"Even though it was certainly amusing…it wasn't fair. Did Nate deserve this terror?"

"No…of course not…" She said ruefully and looked down. John always managed it to make her feel guilty. Until just now, she had been in a brilliant mood, but now she was feeling like she sold out. Her stomach clenched a little. Although there was no reproach in Johns view and also no warning, she felt queasy, while he just looked at her.

"Catherine…I'll be honest. I'm worried about you. Sherlock is a very endearing man. My life is completely controlled by him and that's fine. But you're still a young woman. Most of your life is still lying in front of you. Do not allow him to interfere it too much. I said as an advice. He will not draw the borders and you're dancing dangerously close to his world." Serious, blue eyes looked at her and something like a warning was in his deep voice. John was serious. That wasn't able to be overseen. He was worried about her future. He knew Sherlock better than anyone else and he knew what it meant when you lived his life. John probably thought that she was not able to be aware of the dangers. Perhaps he was right, but she wanted to decide it on her own.

Catherine let the said things run through her head when she stood up slowly. A life with Sherlock Holmes meant danger- she had quickly realized that.

"Thanks for the coffee, John. It was blessing. I'm going to sleep now. I'm totally tired." She yawned demonstrative. She was almost at the door when John called her the last time.

"Catherine…this advice was my seriousness." She paused, took a deep breath and nodded.

"I know, John. I know." She muttered warily.

"Why do we allow him to do this anyway?" John asked- more to himself than to Catherine- as he stared into the fire.

"Because we believe to live in a world, which is not running around the sun. For us, she's running around Sherlock, John. And I worry that there is neither Copernicus nor Galileo to prove us that we're wrong." She said quietly and walked out the door.


	5. 5 Chapter: Even a Sherlock needs help

4. Chapter: Even Sherlock sometimes needs help

38,3°C. Fever. Catherine put back the thermometer on the bedside table and fell back into the pillow. The flu. Great. She regretted now that she had gone to the Date in these clothes. She probably caught the flu there. How could all the ladies take it to run through London's fall in these clothes every day? She already got the payback for one da.

Catherine closed her eyes and rolled over under her three blankets. Only her hair was still looking out of the white mountain of blanket. Now she could forget to work for at least a week, but she wanted nothing more than sleeping at the moment anyway. She wasn't able to grab a clear thought at the moment. Your sinuses were completely sealed and her throat scratched like it was covered with sandpaper.

Since this morning she began to feel ill and during the day it had become worse. Too bad that she had used the excuse of having the flu two weeks ago and no one would believe her that she's having it again- not in a microbiological lab. Luckily, Kathy was on the phone, who just had responded friendly and accepted without inquire, without condemning them. Tomorrow, she would go to the doctor to get a bill of health. The only question was how she should go to the doctor when she was so badly ill.

Catherine wondered briefly if she should call John and ask him for a bill of health, but he had punished her with silence in the last two days, because Sherlock and she had made joked about the drama with Nate. Catherine could not blame him, because he was right with the fact that that had not been necessary and she had even told him that she was sorry. Nate on the other hand, was still working perfectly together with her and had never spoken about the happening in the restaurant. Catherine was really more than happy about it, but it displeased her that she had disappointed John.

John was like a father to her and she trusted him. Catherine knew she could always come over to him, if she had a serious problem, but she did not want to abuse this fact. She just wished that someone would be here and take care of her, because she felt like nothing on earth. But what to do? She lived alone here and now had to deal with it alone that she was sick.

Just a little more, she pulled up the blanked and pulled her pillow in a good position, but she was simply not calmly enough to sleep, even though she knew that was what she needed the most of all. Repeatedly her thoughts circled around John, Sherlock, Jeffrey and her work. She had a hard time.

In the laboratory some people despised her and started to plant a rumour about her behind her back. Normally she would not care about it, but all of them turn away from her if she was poisoned and they might get infected. Even her professor had noticed it and had taken her beside to ask her. If she wasn't careful, her co-workers would manage to get her fired. She could only save her position with good work and motivation so that she was no target.

The whole situation became too much for her to take. She had the feeling that the ceiling was almost falling on her head. How could she fight on so many fronts? She had hardly any power more and was just too young. How much she was longing for her brothers or Johns care, but she had screwed it up herself. Stupid Catherine! Just because she could not shut up when it was necessary.

That has always been her problem Once she was in a frenzy, she lost all control and did no longer knew when she crossed the border. Presumably, John had been right. She was just one step away to go into Sherlock's world and she had been shaking her head quite often because of his behaviour. But was she really any better? She provoked and tested the borders. The only difference between Sherlock and her was that she intentionally crossed them, while Sherlock was not aware of them.

Catherine was awake for several hours afterwards, wondering how her life should go on, but then she fell asleep when her fever lowered a bit. The sleep was anything but relaxing. Confusing images flowed like a tide before her eyes up and down and she threw herself from side to side.

After some time, as she floated between the state of wakefulness and sleep, she heard voiced. Muffled unintelligible words penetrated through the heavy fog of her mind.

Catherine groaned annoyed, opened her eyes and pulled the blanked of her head. Only to feel that she was covered in sweat. Obviously her body had decided to exchange ague against a heat wave. She still could hear the voices coming from the living room. Irritated blinking Catherine straightened up a little and rubbed her sweaty hair from her face.

"Sherlock, you cannot do that. She's sick." That was John's voice. Catherine barrowed her head irritated. Then she heard a snort and saw an uneasy Sherlock running up and down in the living room.

"I have to ask her though!" He said annoyed and then suddenly stopped. Catherine moaned. Presumably, he had discovered that she was awake from their dispute now.

"She's awake." Sherlock said when he turned around to john. "May I ask her now?"

"Sherlock, for God's sake, leave her alone!" John's voice was deep, admonishing.

"Why do I even ask? As if I would need your consent."

"Sherlock!" John shouted and grabbed him by the arm, pulled him back just as he was about to enter her bedroom. "A little more respect."

"Respect, Respect…" Sherlock waved annoyed with his arms and ran up and down again when he was released. "This doesn't help us further, John. We need the answers as soon as possible." John snorted and frowned.

"It's…fine…John…" She croaked and coughed. Talking was hard for her. It felt as if her throat was burning. "He will not rest until I've tried it at least." She slowly sat up and grabbed blindly for the glass of water. Finally, she got it and took a sip. It helped, but just briefly.

Sherlock gave John a 'Do you see?' look, smiled and walked in the bedroom. Thus, he knew even the last bit of her privacy. Fortunately, she had cleaned up and removed anything suspicious or at least what she expected as suspicious. Shortly, Sherlock gaze wandered around the room, but then his grey-blue eyes stayed at her. He watched her exactly from top to bottom and then wrinkled his nose a little.

"Goodness, you look terrible." This smirked played around his face again. The one which aroused Catherine to growl at him.

"I am sick." She replied instead and just sat up helplessly.

"No doubt." Sherlock said shortly. John came into the room and walked around the large bed.

"Sherlock! I won't say it again." He warned him and gave him a sullen look. Sherlock replied it briefly, but then he looked back at Catherine, who was feeling miserable anyway. Exhausted, feverish and restless. She could barely keep her eyes open, it seemed to be impossible to think, but Sherlock would never accept this as an excuse and will not rest until she gave him what he needed.

"Make it short, please…I want to sleep." She mumbled unintelligible and she swayed slightly as she leaned against the bed frame and closed her eyes. John stepped forward and pressed a pillow in her back, but remained silent. Obviously he was still angry, because of the thing with Nate.

"It's about a case."

"Of course it is." Catherine replied nasty. "Don't waste my time, Sherlock. You never came around…just to say hello." She coughed and sniffed vigorously. With a quiet moan she put her head in the neck. The world around seemed to start spinning. John and Sherlock were not more than a smear of colours. Haltingly she took a breath and tried to focusing the picture with the help of concentration, but her eyes refused the service. Nausea rose automatically in her stomach and made her stagger.

"Catherine! Slowly, slowly! Don't overdo yourself. Don't you see that she can barely sit up straight, Sherlock? How should she help her in her condition?" John threw a reproachful glance at Sherlock. This just looked at him briefly, put his hands behind his back and blinked.

"It will prove to me how good she really is. True talent is just shown under adverse conditions." Sherlock muttered after a few moments, more to himself than to them. Catherine looked at him, her eyes were already quite dull of fever, but she nodded and reached out her trembling hand. She was sick and yet she still wanted to impress Sherlock. She shivered slightly as a cold breeze crossed her chest, which was covered in cold sweat.

Sherlock interpreted her body language right as every time and closed the open door, which caused the cold draft.

"What…do you want?" She whispered weakly. Her body trembled more and more and she pulled the blanked around her body, only to get immediately a heat flash. Again it all started spinning aroud and she had to concentrate very hard. She saw how John threw an angry view to Sherlock and then left her bedroom. She was not able to find out, where he went, because Sherlock sat down on her bed, shielding her point of view. She could only see his face blurred. It was a mess of skin colour, black and blue.

"We have found a body in a lonesome warehouse." Sherlock began to explain.

"There have to…" She gasped. "…to be more."

"Of course there's more. The evidence does not match." His calm voice helped Catherine to concentrate a little better. She was like a straw to hold on to and which thus helped to ignore the dizziness of the fever. She did not notice how Sherlock looked at her thoughtfully and frowned.

"What…does not…fit?" Her voice trailed off as she began to cough heavily.

"I have studied samples from the crime scene…and found something where I could need your help."

"So…it's…probably about microbes." She whispered, her lips trembling. Sherlock nodded and pulled out a brown portfolio from his coat. With gazed eyes she looked questioningly on it, but Sherlock just handed it to her silently. Carefully, she took it and opened the folder. Squinting, she held the paper in front of her eyes, trying hard to keep the letters on the paper, but they started a wild dance in front of her eyes. She saw photos of a derelict warehouse in which a man was placed on a pillar. Blood was flowing from a wound on the back of his head. It looked as an ordinary crime of violence to her.

"I do not understand…" She murmured quietly.

"The picture is irrelevant. What had surprised me is in the analysis of the evidences." Sherlock said simply. John came back into the room right now, his medical bag in his hand and went to Catherine. It took some time until she realized that he was standing beside her and put down a glass.

"Take that. Then you'll feel better."

"Aspirin?" She asked, throwing a sceptical view on the bubbling glass, which John had putted on the bedside table. John nodded briefly. Catherine grimaced and pushed it away from her. "Better not."

"Why not?"

"Because otherwise you can scrape me from the loo. I do not bear the salicylic acid. Then I have to air my belly."

"I would like to avoid that." Said Sherlock and threw an appraising glance at the situation. The answer was an admonishing view of John, who now sat next to her and felt her forehead. Catherine shivered as she felt his cold hand on her head.

"That's a proper flu." He said. "For how are you feeling bad?"

"Since this morning…I think…what time is it?"

"3 o'clock at night." Sherlock replied with a shrug.

"3…o'clock at night…lovely." She rolled her eyes. " So rather since yesterday morning."

"I should give you something that you're able to sleep. That's the most important thing."

"John, the case!" Sherlock warned impatiently.

"This is not about you're case, Sherlock. It's about Catherines health!" John hissed angrily at his flat mate.

"I… wanted to help…if can." She said, trying to calm down the heartened temper of the two friends. John turned to her, looked into her eyes. She looked with a begging view and finally the doctor sighed heavily.

"Do you have something else here?"

"Wick Daymed…in the bathroom." Catherine replied tersely. John looked at her sceptically.

"Are you sure? Then you're not able to sleep. There's caffeine in it."

"That does not matter…"

"I cannot allow this." John said again, but in a harsh tone now and just shook his head.

"John, please." She begged. He groaned annoyed, rolled his eyes, mumbled something of 'very irresponsible' and stomped out of the room.

"You just had to go outside in this too thin dress. I told you that you would freeze to death." Sherlock folded his arms across his chest and looked at her seriously. Catherine did not answer, but put the file next to her and snuggled back under her blankets.

"And then I also had to deal with Mycroft." John, who just re-entered the bedroom, stopped in the doorway.

"Mycroft?" He asked at the same time with Sherlock and both looked confused at her.

"What did Mycroft want?"

"Interrogation." She mumbled under her blankets after she had swallowed the pill that John had given to her.

Catherine had met Mycroft Holmes the first time a week after her movement into the Baker Street and this man clearly has a power complex. At first she had thought that she should have been kidnapped as she had noticed a black sedan following her all the way home from work. The man, who had then confronted her in a dark warehouse, was…was…scary. Although he had been incredibly calm, the emblem of the British government, he had frightened her more than Sherlock with his crazy actions. When she then had learned, that Mycroft was Sherlocks older brother, so many things had become much clear. As far as she knew from John, Mycroft had told her pretty much the same things as him at that time. He had offered her an amount of money to spy on Sherlock- what she, of course, had refused and what Sherlock reprimanded her, because they could had shared the money- and Mycroft also said, that Sherlock was a danger- as if she did not know it by herself- and the usual, cocky blah, blah, blah.

"What did Mycroft want exactly?" Then John asked confused. Catherine sighed. Wasn't he able to think about it? Helplessly she watched at Sherlock. She did not want to talk so much. Each word was hard for her to speak out and she hoped he would explain it to John.

"I guess he had heard of our drama and wanted to know if it was somehow true." Sherlock said quietly and looked out of the window. Catherine nodded.

"It seemed to be his intention at least. He let me being catch up…" She coughed. "… After I said good bye to you, John…and then I stood in a drifty warehouse for an hour. Just to…withstand his piercing gaze."

"What did you tell him?" Now, Sherlocks view was quite curious. He blinked and suddenly the case had been forgotten. Catherine ignored her pounding head and smiled at both of them a little proud.

"That it isn't his damn business and concern." Puzzled, the two men looked at her.

"You defied Mycroft?" Stammered John surprised. Catherine blinked wearily and shrugged.

"Even a Mycroft cannot afford everything. He could just ask. Unfortunately, he has a power complex." Gradually the medicine began to take effect, so that her head was not so woozy.

"You're brave. Nobody easily defies my brother."

"I had a kind of trump card."

"Trump? " Sherlock repeated confused. "What kind of triumph card?"

"Well, yes, the trump…" Sherlock raised his eyebrow and looked at her confused. John also did not seem to know what she meant.

"Heaven, you really have no idea what I'm talking about, haven't you, Sherlock?" Asked Catherine surprised. "Really? No?"

Sherlock blinked and then hissed through clenched teeth:

"No."

"Just a moment…I've to capture this picture…" Catherine acted as if she would hold up an imaginary camera, taking a photo of the situation and just looked at it. Sherlock growled angrily and gave her a withering look, which she was skilfully ignoring, because she was still looking at the imaginary display. "Oh, what a beautiful photograph. Sherlock Holmes completely clueless. That's pretty rare." John chuckled, also ignoring Sherlocks evil view, who was obviously disgruntled.

"I can barely believe that I've discovered something that Sherlock Holmes had not thought about. Ahaaaa…oh yeah…I'm that good." She made a small victory dance with her hands- more wasn't capable.

"Catherine!" Sherlock hissed warningly and his eyes narrowed to small slits. It was just missing, that smoke would come out of his ears.

"Ok, enough torturing." She laughed and ran her fingers through her hair. "The trump card is really quite simple. I do not know why, but every time I met your brother, it feels like there were ninjas in the dark corners, just waiting for a nod of their master to kill me."

"As if Mycroft has ninjas…" Interrupted Sherlock a bit too softly. His grey-blue eyes sparkled. "Don't be stupid. No, no ninjas, just James Bond." His mouth twitched and showed the common smile that never reached his eyes.

"Oh yes, James Bond. Much better. The secret agent of the British government who can knock off a whole ninja army within a second." Sneered Catherine and rolled her eyes. Thanks to the tablet, she was feeling better and as the snot detached itself from the gears of her brain, it began to work in a reasonably adequate tempo. When she saw the look in Sherlocks eyes, which she got as a respond, she shook her head and sighed.

"Ok, ok. I'll explain it already. The trump card is our spectacle in itself." When she saw the bemused gaze of John and Sherlock, she giggled softly. "You really don't check it, right? Well, Mycroft can indeed be quite sure- after all the stuff with Irene Adler- that the drama was just a game between us, but you can never be sure if it belongs to you, Sherlock. Not even a Mycroft Holmes could." A small grin spread across her face. Sherlock only raised an eyebrow and barrowed his head. "So there was still the minimal chance that it could have been true and so he wasn't able to hurt me, because it may make his little brother mad. As strange and hard Mycroft is in his quirky way, he is a clucking hen who cares only about his brother. He would not risk it and so I had something to protect me and so I could even date to defy him."

John and Sherlock looked at her surprised, and then looked at each other until John began to laugh.

"Mycroft is a clucking hen?" Sherlock asked irritated.

"Oh yes, he is." John and Catherine said in unison, giggling. Sherlock just looked at her confused, sighed but a small, genuine smile was visible.

"That was very clever of you, Catherine. Not everyone can claim from himself that he had cheated on my brother. "

"Well…I would not go as far to say that I had outwitted him…no…" She incited off, still smiling because of the praise. "I just wanted to once have the upper hand. At least a bit." She ran her fingers through her hair and the pride spreads through her boy, blurred away the last side effects that are caused by her flu. "But it was fun to brush that smug smile off his face and I also thought that it might be useful to you later, so I did not want to deny it at that moment."

Sherlock gave her an approving glance and Catherine smiled, but then she remembered why they were here and took the folder back to the hand.

Thoughtfully, she looked at the folder again and this time she was also able to read the reports. She looked at everything closely, but could not see what Sherlock might expect from her. The man was found by a group of teenagers who had visited the place as a test of courage. He was killed by a heavy hit on the back head according to the forensic report. Catherine pulled down her eyebrows and through the testimony of the four teenagers. All had said exactly the same things.

"And what's so unusual, Sherlock? The victim may have been lured there by a pretext and then had been killed. Valuables do not seem to be missing…" She said thoughtfully, clamped her tongue between her lips and browsed in the document. "DNA analysis can be completely forgotten at this crime scene. Far too many to draw a true conclusion of it."

"If it would be like that, then I would not be here."

"That's why I'm asking what bothers you so much with these reports." Catherine weighed her head back and forth, trying to understand what troubling Sherlock. "You said it has to do with microbes…but there are none mentioned."

"It's not in the record." Sherlock stopped in front of her and looked at her from his expressive eyes. They were telling that there was a mystery of which he could not find a solution.

"Then…why should I read it?"

"To get an overview. Every small detail might be helpful." He said quietly. Catherine nodded slightly. He had a point.

"So, what irritates you so much?"

"I have found a microbial species in the sample that is not known to me." Sherlock began. "I found it on the skin of the victim, but when I wanted to watch them closer to determine their metabolism, they were dead."

"They were dead?" Catherine asked irritated now. Sherlock nodded and frowned thoughtfully.

"How long…?"

"About half an hour…" He answered before she had asked her question.

"That was fast." Catherine replied in surprise. Thoughtfully, she flipped again through the file and sought a clue. Then she looked up at John. "How long had he been dead?"

"About eight hours before he was found." Replied the doctor immediately. "Died of traumatic brain injury." Irritated Catherine saw at him with a big question mark literally over her head.

"How active were the microbes under your microscope, Sherlock?"

"They have fled from the light of the microscope. So negative photo taxies. I would also say that they were already dying afterwards. They moved rather sluggishly." Sherlock said quietly and Catherine nodded. She had a guess, but somehow it still did not fit.

"Are these microbes really important for that case?" Mingled John now. "There are my thousands of them in such a place."

"In itself, yes…but it's kinda strange. That they were dying fast showed that they're high sensitive…but the environment in the lab was not very different from the warehouse, at least not from the perspective of a microbe." Said Catherine and made a vague gesture with his hand. "So why did they die so quickly in the laboratory? If they were really high sensitive, they had already stepped into the decline phase within the eight hours."

"Decline phase?" Sherlock asked.

"The growth of microbes can be divided into four stages, Sherlock." John began to tell. "The start-up phase, when they come from defiance in a nutrient medium and so their metabolic process starts to work with full power. The exponential- or also called logarithmic- growth phase, then follows the stationary phase, which is used for persistence of adverse conditions. This may be because they have become too many and thus the nutrients are limited or because the environment itself had changed. Then there will be no growth within the population anymore and the metabolic pathways are lowered. When it comes to the decline phase, then there is a real decrease in population." Catherine nodded in agreement as John ended with his execution.

"That's right. Is a microbe sensitive, then the smallest change in the environment lead to the death. Temperature, pressure, certain chemicals…there reasons may be quite different." Catherine went on. "Because they died so rapidly in your laboratory, although the environment has not changed much. This speaks for a high sensitivity. But how did they manage to survive before? That does not make sense." The young woman grabbed a college block, she always kept in a drawer of her bedside table and wrote down all the facts that Sherlock had called her.

"Which form did they have?"

"Coccus…but, Catherine, what you're planning will not be necessary. I know the name of the microbes." Sherlock interrupted her, shaking his head. Confused, she looked at him and blinked rapidly.

"Eeeeeeeh? But you said that you do not know them."

"Even I do not know every microbe specie inside out." Sherlock replied smugly and pursed his lips. Catherine sighed. That could nobody. Conjectures to follow, the research had just discovered a tenth of all microbes and they already knew several thousand. Even a Sherlock could not know all. Even in her lab they only knew the properties of their model organism well. "And, unfortunately, the internet spits out no information. Therefore I came to you." Sherlock handed her a sheet on which a name stood.

"I thought maybe you could tell me something about it." He said, still looked at her with an impenetrable gaze. Catherine looked at the name. Thoughtfully, she frowned. Deep in her something was ringing. The name sounded vaguely familiar. It was no more than a hunch, but she could not place it. Damn it! Why she had to be sick?

"Sorry, no…" She admitted ruefully then after a few moments. "I know nothing about it."

"Then I came here for nothing?" Sherlock sounded disappointed, something that hit her. He had really built on it, he had hoped that she could help him and now she had to tell him that she couldn't say something about it. You could see it in his eyes that he had expected more from her. Almost angry he turned away from her and snorted in frustration. Catherine slumped slightly and lowered his eyes guiltily.

"I'm sorry." She whispered quietly. John looked at her and shook his head.

"It's all right." He said in a sympathetic in an also quiet tone as he stood up to follow Sherlock, who was about to leave. Catherine would never thought of it, but it was as if she would be stabbed in the heart and the relentless sense of failure spread through her. Sherlock, however, left without a word. Just before he reached the door Catherine quickly raised her view.

"Sherlock! Wait!" She had an idea. She did not know if it would bring something, but it was at least worth a try. The Consulting Detective stopped and turned towards her.

"I can't waste my time any longer."

"I can still help you." Said Catherine seriously. Sherlock looked at her in amazement and John stopped. "I don't know this specie of bacteria, that's right, but I have an idea how we can figure out something." Sherlock slowly came back into the bedroom and looked at her quizzically. Catherine on the other hand turned to John and looked at him imploringly.

"John, could you please bring me my laptop? He's on the desk."

"Sure, no problem."

"I've already looked in the Internet. Even in the international database is nothing about it. Only the name." Sherlock said annoyed and his face was hardened. He seemed to believe that she was wasting his time. His grey-blue eyes looked at her sceptically. What could a dumb student haven seen, that the great Sherlock Holmes haven't noticed?

Catherine was not irritated however. She did not subside. For some reason the wanted to impress Sherlock. The point here was no longer just a case of murder, a man' life that was cruelly taken, what would have been allowed to exist, but right now it was to prove her worth.

"Then she'll be just been discovered." Catherine murmured thoughtfully and looked again at Sherlock and just saw that his patient was slowly fading away, but she still smiled faintly, but with a little proud. "Good that we're not going into the Internet, but in the Intranet."

John came back and handed her her laptop. Catherine opened it and turned it on.

"Our university had an internal database of all model organism and all test results can be entered there. Our Institute is not the only one working with microorganism. While we're trying to understand the molecular cell mechanism in the basis of and , other microbes are studied by geneticist, animal physiologists and sometimes even botanists used them. We, ourselves, did not use this microorganism, but I think I can remember that Professor Niels was once talking about that another Institute is using it. It was during the lunch break and I did not listen carefully, because I was tired."

Catherine opened the browser and called the homepage of the University of London, specifically the Faculty of Natural Science. The site was simply built and unimpressive. A banner of the university filled the upper fifth of the page. The main part was news form the instituted, dates ecc. While on the left were several sub-menus. Catherine purposefully clicked on one of them and gave in a password.

Immediately appeared a kind of Excel on the screen in which Name, Family, Genus, Species of various living organism are listed. Catherine opened the search menu and typed in the name Sherlock had found. Sherlock sat down beside her on the bed, but could not see what she was doing on the screen.

John, however, could see that opened up a sort of profile as she clicked on the name of the microbe. A picture of a coccus appeared and all test results of the institutes were listened. Catherine had guesses correctly. The kind that Sherlock had found on the corpse was discovered by accident a year ago. John was trying to understand what all the used abbreviations meant, but he had no idea. Although John had of course had biology as a subject while his medicines study, his baseline was back for too long, so that he had lost contact. He still knew the basically principles, but this was just a secret language as the Chinese Hang Zhou, the old number system he had once discovered while they were hunting the Black Lotus.

Catherine understood everything. Excited her light blue eyes flitted across the screen while she scrolled down and clicked on some shortcuts, only to go back to the original homepage. With every line that she devoured, John saw that an idea in her head got more and more shape. A deep crease formed on her forehead until she blinked and looked irritated at her two neighbours. Shortly, she shook her head, as if she would stamp the explanation as absurd.

"What have you discovered?" Now also Sherlock asked, who had watched every of her movements closely, but instead of answering, Catherine took the file again and flipped through the pages almost obsessively. Her eyes runs through their caves, sucking on every word, searching for an answer and then a grin spread across her lips.

"Eight hours dead, you said, John, right?" John blinked, but nodded, even if the question confused him.

"Yes, exactly. Rigor mortis just started."

"And the body has not been moved?" Sherlock blinked, too and titled his slim head with the high cheekbones.

"No…there was no evidence for it. Why?" No it were Sherlocks eyes who were moving fast, scoured his memories. He tried to understand what Catherine intended with these questions. A light shine flashed through her eyes and she laughed softly.

"Well, he was moved."

"What?" Asked John and Sherlock immediately and immediately she had all of their attention. The air in the room began to shiver. Electricity seemed to emanate from Sherlock, who was staring at her. Presumably he was trying to read in Catherine's face, but she hid her recognitions.

"The man was not killed in this warehouse." Catherine said again, this time with emphasis.

"How do you figure this out?" Sherlock seemed to know how he should feel. His voice wavered between…well, maybe admiration, because she had figured out what Sherlock had overlooked, but on the other hand he seemed to be grumpy about it. Perhaps even disgust.

"The microbes tell me this and they will give you a mystery that you're gonna like, Sherlock."

"A mystery?" Sherlock asked confused.

"I'll explain it to you. The microbes that you have found, Sherlock, are really highly sensitive for temperature and pressure, but the most interesting thing is, that they're chemoautotrophic."

"Chemo…autotrophic?" John frowned in confusion and looked at her with his dark blue eyes.

"Chemotrophie means they derive energy from exergonic reactions, John. They are thermodynamically favoured reactions; the equilibrium is on the side of the products. In this kind of metabolism inorganic substances are converted." Sherlock said and his gaze was now calmly. It seemed that he was beginning to understand what Catherines idea was about, but for John she still obscured.

"And?" He asked and looked helplessly from one to another.

"Well, John…" Catherine continued, looking at him, smiling. "The really interesting thing is, and Sherlock seems to understand it now, is that the man can never be killed there, because Chemoautotrophie means their metabolism is not based on oxygen like ours. They reduce inorganic substance to transfer the so gained electrons on the adenosine triphosphate.

"And that means that they cannot survive in places with oxygen." Continued Sherlock her thoughts. His voice was getting faster as well as his thoughts. Excited, he looked through her bedroom, his eyes fixed no points. It was always like that if an idea began to form in Sherlocks active brain.

"Exactly. The candidate receives 100 points." Catherine nodded again eagerly. "Studies of the Institute of Inorganic Chemistry of the University of London have shown that these bacteria can survive five hours under such conditions until they die."

"That means…that he was killed in a vacuum?" Asked John, when he also began to implement it gradually.

"At least under extremely low oxygen conditions." Catherine watched as Sherlock became more excited. His eyes lit up as he thought intensely. She had no idea how it all hung together or how that was possible. She was also getting too tired to think. The storm of knowledge disappeared as well as the effect of the drug. "I do not know…if this information helps you, Sherlock, but…these microbes reduce sulphur and ammonia. They're decomposer."

Sherlock paused in his thoughts storm and immediately looked at her intently.

"What did you say? Sulphur and ammonia?"

"Yes."

"The black smokers." Sherlock said hastily packed up and jumped up because of his inner turmoil. "This I unbelievable, this is spectacular. Oooh, this case is going to be interested." His voice was almost flipping over as if he walked up and down, running through his thoughts.

Even Catherine eyes widened and she stayed out of breath.

"Of course! The black smokers!"

"What is a black smoker?" And once again, John felt really stupid, although he had been pretty good in school and mastered the high requirements of the medical study. However, he often lost the track when he was together with these two.

"Black smokers are hydrothermal Vulcans at the bottom of the deep sea." Said Catherine. " At least 2500 meters beyond the surface. The usually form their own habitat and the species have adapted to this biotope so that they're able to survive there. The base of the food chain thereby are microorganism such as the one Sherlock had found. Another indication of this conjecture was Sherlock's statement that they have a negative reaction to light. At this depth, there is no light. Some hypotheses even say that life in these black smokers came into being. "

"Mo ... Wait! Just so I understand this correctly. He was killed in the deep sea and then land in less than five hours in any warehouse of London? "Repeated John delivered by two facts.

"That tell the facts at least." Catherine said quietly, blinking lazily. Leaden tiredness settled over her mind and even Sherlock could not vanish it anymore. She felt as if she had been up for 1000 nights. It took all her strength to stay awake.

"But how?" Asked John.

"Well…that's Sherlock mystery…" She whispered weakly, her lips were now bloodless. She looked around briefly, but Sherlock had already left the apartment. She smiled slightly. He was always so stormy. Hopefully he would found a solution, because she had no idea how it could have work, but she was interested.

Wearily, she fell back into the pillow and closed her eyes. Now her fever unfurled its destructive power again as the adrenaline caused by the excitement died down. Her body was exhausted and she desperately needed sleep.

"I still cannot believe it. What was that? A Houdini trick in the sea instead of a tube, that had failed?" Muttered John, who was still standing beside her bed.

"Oh no." Catherine chuckled under her blanked. "It's just Sherlocks way how to see it. As something big and spectacular."

"What do you mean?"" She could almost feel his thoughtful eyes on her and she pushed down the blanket briefly, throwing a smile at him.

"Of course, they also occur in the black smoker, but equally in every swam, marsh or in a lake, which turned anaerobic.

"Turned anaerobic?"

"For example if the algae population increases of something similar, there is also an increase in the activity of decomposers, because there's more plant debris." She yawned and supressed a shiver of her body. She did not want John to see how bad she was feeling again. He was still mad at her, that was palpable and she did not want to be a burden. "This is, however, withdrawn all the oxygen off the water until the concentration becomes nearly zero. It's pretty rare in a naturally environment, but fertilization on fields, even excessive feeding ducks can causes that there is more biomass or inorganic substance in the water as the lake can handle. To be precise, there is an increase in the phosphate concentration in the water. You're noticing it first, but if a certain point is passed, it happens really fast."

"So the crime scene was maybe rather in a lake?"

"That's at least more likely." She mumbled quietly, fighting her fatigue.

"But why haven't you told Sherlock about it?" Catherine shrugged and looked at John with unmoving eyes, but a small smile touched her pearly lips.

"Well…I'm…sick." As to underscore it, she had to cough violently and fall back into the pillow with a groan. At least John would have noticed that she did not feel as well as she wanted him to believe. Her mind was still willing to perform the play, but her body lost his power. His blue eyes looked suspicious, but he said nothing. Therefore, Catherine continued, as if nothing had happened:

"And as you can see…such things…are easy to oversee…or forget." Sherlock should figure this out on his own. Even he could not afford everything. Catherine knew that she would never change him, but it were these little victories, these little games, who helped her to get along with the overwhelming Holmes.

John furrowed his brow and seemed irritated, and then he blinked and looked at her, grinning.

"It was a pay back."

"He should find it out by himself." Muttered Catherine. "They're in black smokers, so I have not lied to him, but he should not believe that he can barge in here if I'm sick and then to behave like this. John shook his head and smiled.

"I also need these small victories." She continued. The Holmes brother should not think that they were allowed to anything they wanted to. Sure, she did not have the power or influence of the two, so that she could really counter them, but she would always try it within in her own borders. She wanted to give them a damper. Later…maybe…after she had slept. She just felt tired.

Just as she started to nap away, she felt the mattress gave away beneath her. John gently pulled the blanked from her nose and smiled a little perky. But when he saw how pale she had become now and that her eyes looked at him blindly, the expression vanished instantly. Concern glided through the dark blue eyes and he leaned a bit further to look at her more closely.

Catherine slipped away uneasily. She did not want that he would notice that the fever had returned.

"Catherine…" She heard him whispering softly. "Why haven't you called me?"

There she was. The question that she wanted to avoid. Her stomach clenched. John was mad at her and he should not forget that now, just because she was sick. It was not fair. She did not deserve his care. Catherine titled her head to the other side and avoided his gaze shyly.

"Mhhmm…hhmm..hmmm…mhhh…" She murmured so softly that John did not understand a word. Irritated, he frowned and pulled down the blanked to the clavicle, penetrated her with his searching gaze.

"What did you say?"

"You were mad about me." Catherine whispered hesitantly, this time a little louder, as she looked at him again.

"Wait…what?" John stared at her, dumbfounded, but he quickly understood what was behind it and just shook his head, smiling and sighing at the same time. "Catherine, I'm a doctor. I would not deny my help, just because have driven a joke too far with Sherlock." His blue eyes looked at her sympathetically.

"But…I have to cope it on my own… can't help me…" She was not even able to finish sentences.

"All right…" John stood up. "Sleep a little, Catherine. I'll see after you tomorrow morning." He gently stroked over her hair that flowed over the white pillow and left the room. Catherine mumbled back to her blanked and it did not take long time until she finally fell asleep.

Several hours later, Catherine awoke completely whacked out of her sleep and looked around blindly in her room. A slightly rosy glow of the rising sun pervaded it, so she could only see shadows. Coughing, she sat up and put her hand on her throat, which was dry. Carefully, she reached for the glass of water, but instead she pushed against it and only with a dull Plong it fell on the carpet. Damn it! Not that too! Catherine cursed, what caused a bad cough. She carefully wrapped her blanked over her shoulders and slipped out of bed. Slowly, she stood up, because she had no trust in her body. He was shaky, weak and she did not know if she would ever make the ten steps into the kitchen, but she had to try.

With clumsy steps, she went into the living room, leaned against the door frame and the old cherry wood desk of her brother, who had even a roller shutter to cover the work surface. Swaying like a drunk, she went on. Each step cost all of her concentration and her environment started to become blurry before her eyes.

Suddenly she felt more than giddy. The world around her began to rotate around its own axis, faster and faster, so that Catherine had the impression to completely lose the ground beyond her feet. Panting, she took a deep breath, leaned convulsively on the back of the chair, as everything threatened to tip. Cold sweat ran down her forehead, dripping into her eyes, causing a fire in them. Scared of the situation, she grabbed frantically for air and almost fell back as her lungs seemed to be on fire. Her heart was beating rapidly against her chest, almost as if it would burst and she felt her pulse pounding behind her frontal lobes as it was hit with a sledgehammer. While the adrenaline rushed through her body it took all of her remaining energy.

Everything turned black in front of Catherines eyes and slowly she tilted to the side. Her head hardly hit the floor and she fainted.

John stepped cautiously into the home of Catherine, balancing a large bowl. It was late morning and he wanted to bring her a tonic soup. Although she had clear yesterday, that she did not want his help and he had not wanted to ignore her wish, he could not beat the doctor within him. Catherine was very ill and it was his way of apologizing for Sherlocks rudely behaviour.

Somewhat awkward, he opened the front door and entered the apartment.

"Hey, Catherine." He said loud enough so she could hear him, if she was awake and he would not frighten her, but quiet enough so that he would not wake her. "I have a hot chicken soup form Mrs. Hudson. This would be good for you."

He dropped the pot down and what he saw shocked him to the core. He almost let the bowl fall. Right in the middle of the sitting group laid Catherine, her body strangely twisted, a hand next to her head. The blanked, in which she had been snuggled in the night was just above her legs. But what was frightening the most was the look on her. Her skin was ashen, all the blood drained out of her face and her hair hung in her face. And above all, she did not seem to breathe.

"Catherine!" he uttered frightened, simply putting the bowl somewhere and knelt down beside her. Immediately, he went through the point's plan, which had been drummed into him during medical school for emergencies again and again. He pushed up her top of the pyjama, grabbed her wrist and examined her pulse. At first he thought she did not have one anymore and prepared himself to fight down the panic that would come in a heartbeat, but after a moment he could felt one. He was weak, irregular and very flat, while her skin was sticky from the sweat, but she was still alive.

He immediately took her to the recovery position so that her chest would not constrain her breathing and held his finger under her nose to be sure and he felt a slight hint of a breath. The pulse was alarmingly low, although that probably came through the flattened adrenaline. This was normal and not currently life threatening, but he was still worried.

Since John had now made the important first aid steps, he immediately called the hospital and explained the situation. If everything went smoothly, the ambulance would be here in five to ten minutes. He took a deep breath, leaned forward and covered her with the blanked before he started to investigate any further. He opened one of her eyes lit and provisionally shone into it with the light of his cell phone, but the pupil did not react and her body did not show any pain reactions of reflexes as well.

Trembling, John took a deep breathe again, forced down his panic and dialled Sherlocks number with trembling hands. The dial tone seemed to sound an eternity and John cursed inwardly that this idiot should finally take the call.

"John, what's up?" He then heard the deep, growling voice of his flat mate. "Have you thought about the mild?"

"Just forget your damn milk!" John yelled at him angrily. His concern for Catherine now channelled to Sherlock. How could be so calm? So…so uninterested? Why did he care about his milk? Angry thoughts raced through his head and he had to force himself to remember the fact that Sherlock had no idea. "You need to come over right now!"

"I have no time." Sherlock replied unpleased and let Johns anger inflame even more. "I'm currently thinking."

"I don't give a shit about your thoughts!" Shouted John to him and clenched his phone hardly. He needed Sherlock as a support. An idea of what had happened to Catherine had lodged in his head and he robbed every clear thought.

Sherlock seemed to notice that the situation was serious and something was behind it than John usual annoyance, because he could hear how Sherlock took a deep breath and then asked in a quiet voice:

"What happened?" John closed his eyes and forced himself with all this might to make sure that his voice did not tremble. Guilt gnawed at him. Why he had not been more stubborn?

"Catherine…she…" His voice fainted.

"What happened to her?" Sherlock asked now and his voice had a worried tone. It was barely audible and yet it was there.

"She has fallen…into a coma." John said breathlessly. Tuuuuut. Instantly the phone went dead.


	6. 6 Chapter: Anxious Wait

5. Chapter: Anxious wait

„She…she has fallen into a coma." He heard John breathless voice on the other end of the line. Immediately Sherlock hung up, hurried to the dresser and put on his coat. He literally drilled the door down and rushed down the stairs. He clearly had had heard the worry and guilt in John's voice- a bad sign. John was a soldier and remained calm and controlled even in the most hopeless situations. Now that so obviously almost panic was in his voice, it also had an impact on him. Sherlock would not go as far as calling it concern, but at least it was now a situation that he could not ignore. Even if he was still thinking about solving the case of the dead man in the warehouse, John's behaviour had caused him to lower its priority.

It was not about Catherine herself, it was the whole situation, which made sure that he was able to tear himself away from the case. Something he would never thought of until now. Usually if Sherlock had a case-especially such an interesting one-nothing could distract him. He had not even noticed that John had gone over to Catherine, but that was not mattering at the moment.

Something had changed in the last few months. A braid had formed that prevented him from being the emotionless sociopath he used to be. Surely, he would not actually go so far as to say that he cared about Catherine- not as he did about John or Mrs. Hudson- but she wasn't that she was like the rest of the grey masse of humans on this hopelessly stupid planet, which seemed to go around the sun.

And whom he blamed for the fact that he was beginning to develop a kind of conscience? Of course, John! Who else? This so honourable man who somehow managed to be his conscience. It was like a disease and John was the vector that transmitted it. Meanwhile he had infected Sherlock and prevented him from doing anything to solve a case, prevented him to be conscience- and emotionless sociopath who was willing to run along even the darkest paths of London to find the light. The light, which warmed his heart, petted his mind when he had found the culprit. Previously it hadn't mattered in which abyss he had to jump and no way had been to unorthodox for him, but since John lived with him, it became different. He was like an anchor that held him, if he exceeded the borders. His borders to be precise. The border of society he obviously crossed often enough.

Sherlock was somehow annoyed about it, but it was even more the fact, that he jumped when John called him. Shouldn't it be the other way around? Yes, it should be like this, but if John was so distraught, Sherlock knew that he was not groundless.

He almost ran into Mrs. Hudson, who came just packed with shopping bags into the hallway. Irritated, she looked after Sherlock, who had already run through the door.

"Sherlock! Where're you going?" The old landlady called after him. "I still have chicken soup for you."

"Later, Mrs. Hudson." He shouted over his shoulder and ran the last few meters to Catherine's apartment. Even as he entered it, he sat that the situation was more than serious. John knelt beside Catherine, investigated her and seemed more than anxious.

"What happened?" Said Sherlock and went up to his flat mate, knelt beside him. John gave him a sad look and then went back to check her pulse.

"I wanted to bring her a soup to recover strength and give her a medicament to increase her immune system, but when I stepped into the apartment, I found her like that. She laid her at least for five hours. She does not react to pain or other stimuli and her body has cooled completely." John said in a monotone tone that told Sherlock how much it actually was raging inside of him.

"That does not sound like a normal flu at all." Sherlock said thoughtfully. His eyes went through the apartment. The thought that something was wrong, was growing in his head.

"No…" Said John dull and frantically looked at the door. Sherlock knew that he was looking out for the ambulance.

"Probably a secondary infection due to a weakened immune system. Damn it!" The doctor hit the carpet and closed his eyes. Sherlock saw the typical signs of guilt on his face. His breathing was heavy, eyes closed, head bowed. John believed that he was responsible for her condition.

"I should have been more stubborn, Sherlock…I should have stayed…I…damn it!"

"John, calm down." He interrupted him coldly. "It's not your fault. You could do nothing." His flat mate looked at him, blinking, but then his eyes narrowed.

"How can you be so fucking calm? Doesn't she mean anything to you? She could possibly die, Sherlock! And where's that damn ambulance?" John's voice was angry, trembling with suppressed rage as his nose. A swirl of anger, fear and despair hit Sherlocks blue eyes, but he let not himself being impressed by it.

"No, she doesn't." The angry look from John was studiously ignored. "And even if she would, would it make any difference if I get concerned?"

He looked at him with quiet, grey-blue eyes. Sometimes it was an advantage to be an emotionless bastard, what John maybe cursed inwardly. So he could support his flat mate and at least calm him down. It was not helpful to get into feelings and so at least one present person was able to stay calmly and rationally. People did not see lots of things, because they were not willing to see the facts or because of their morals or emotions misinterpreted them.

"No ..." the blond growled at him and Sherlock knew he hated to have to admit that he was right. That had not pleased him after the death of the old woman in Moriarty's game.

John jumped up and ran restlessly. A natural reflex. He tried to escape the inner storm, but Sherlock knew it was hopeless. He calmly stood up, walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"John…" He called him again, this time softly and stopped him. "You did everything you could. Catherine is a young, healthy woman. Well, at least normally. Her immune system will make it." John looked long at him, then nodded slightly and san weakly to the floor again. Sherlock knelt beside him again and looked at Catherine. Her skin was white, paler than she had during the night. Dark shadows had formed around her eyes and her skin her whole seemed to be ashen. Her normally beautifully curved, but slim lips the colour of a pearl, were now bloodless, almost blue. Sherlock did not need long to realize that her body already applied all energy and that she was barely alive. She was more a mummy than a living woman.

Sherlock bit his lower lip and he probably felt the same as John at this moment. Powerlessness. He had not told the whole truth. Of course he was not untouched, he wasn't that cold. Even the death of the old woman caused by starting to describe Moriarty, had hit him, even though it had annoyed him more, that he had lost, although he actually had won. Here it was different. Catherine did matter to him. She was no close confidants, to be honest she mostly got on his nerves, but Catherine was smart and affronted him. She was one of the few that really awoke feelings in him and even thought it was harder to admit than anything else for him, he knew he did not want to be without her anymore. He liked to annoy her, to let her roll her eyes.

She was an ordinary woman, but one who was closer to his world than most. Sometimes she understood him, was as frustrated by the society as him, but unlike him, she did not dare to break out.

But Catherine was stronger than many expect her to be, even stronger than she thought of herself. Sherlock could see it in her. She was a fighter, which would rather go down roaring than to back down and this cognition made him stay calm. She had too many goals in her life as to die right now. Or did Sherlock only tell him this to suppress the now burgeoning sense of guilt? Even if he did not want to, the idea arose in him that it was perhaps his fault that she was in this condition. Of course, he had seen how sick she had been, but he had been too narrow-minded and selfish to notice that. He still wondered about why she had endured his nastiness and have not thrown a "_Piss of_!" at him like all the other people had before. Instead, she had clenched the teeth together and helped him even more than a little.

Yes, Sherlock felt really powerless. Otherwise he could always rely on his razor-sharp mind, but at this moment it did not help at all. He could only hope and he hated nothing more than this feeling. What did hope meant? Once you began to hope, you were giving the responsibility out of the hand. You count on someone else would solve the problem. But who should this be? A higher power? Perhaps even a God? Just stupid people could believe such a thing, people who were not able to solve a problem on their own.

Sherlock looked at John, who was still kneeling next to Catherine, holding her hand in quiet desperation. As if he had felt the look of the grey-blue eyes, John opened his and looked up at him. Sherlock replied this view intensely and he saw fear and concern in the dark eyes of the blonde. These feelings seemed to devour John, because his eyes looked at him full of pain, begging him to do something. He was the all-powerful Sherlock Holmes, he surely thought, he should have an idea. But fact was, Sherlock was just as clueless as him.

It seemed that the two friends watched each other for ever, when finally the siren pulled them out of her stupor. Both looked to the door where they saw the blue glow. Immediately John jumped up, rushed down the stairs and took up the paramedics. At that moment, he was the military doctor again. Calmly and objectively, he described the situation, identified himself as a doctor and guided the two men.

What happened next Sherlock did not even realized anymore. Just in a corner of his consciousness he heard something about adrenaline, catheter and a far too low pulse. The mess around him did not exist anymore. Nothing more than a sequence of fast-moving images to which he was not paying attention, which are blurred into each other.

Irritated, but somehow gravitate to something, Sherlock went through the flat and looked around. He did not understand what was calling him, but deep in his mind formed an idea that there was more behind Catherine's coma than usual causes. It was more an intention and yet he felt it clearly. It was like a river of criminal energy, which flew through the air. Sherlock repeatedly turned his head, trying to make out the origin of it, but his eyes did not see, what his mind had noticed even though they were searching for it. Like sand trickling through his fingers, the knowledge slipped away from him again and again. He tried to grab it, to understand, but he was not able to keep it.

"Sherlock?" Johns questioning voice tore him out of his thoughts. The called blinked quickly and previously so clearly highlighted living room faded away and his perception normalized. Sherlock snorted short. He saw himself yet so close to the solution, and then it was just destroyed by John. Slowly he turned his head to the smaller one and looked at him. John looked back thoughtfully.

"Did you say something, John?" He heard himself asking automatically. John sighed, but he did not comment as otherwise, when Sherlock had ignored him.

"The paramedics bring Catherine in St. Bart's. Are you coming? "He said in a monotone tone that showed Sherlock how much he cared about the girl. Something that Sherlock still did not quite understand, but that was also not his concern at this moment. John turned around and followed the paramedics, but Sherlock remained at his place, trying to get back to that state, which he had just had. Again, it was John's voice calling to him, pulling him out of the vision that made him ignore all unimportant things. Sherlock groaned frustrated and stomped. He spun around and saw John's irritated look. Then he sighed and rubbed his eyebrows, before he re-catch the eye contact.

"Go with them, John. Only one person can drive with ambulance. "Short John lifted an eyebrow, but Sherlock looked back at him and nodded toward the door. John seemed to understand, because his mouth opened in a silent, 'Ah' and he whispered:

"You think that something is wrong." Sherlock nodded in response and through the room again.

"I do not know what it is, John, but something tells me that there's more behind it." Sherlock said with his thoughtful voice. John nodded and reluctantly left the room.

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath. he pushed aside all distracting thought, focused as ever, and then opened his eyes again. He wanted to look around a little in the flat before would go to the hospital, because this feeling that he had a few minutes ago, returned again. Only this time the room was not stroke by colours of moving people around so that he could quietly observe everything around him. Still, there was this slight pull in his mind, which let him stop, because it felt like Sherlock was missing something. It was like his subconscious would scream:

"Look at it, you idiot!"

But Sherlock did not see it. Damn it! It was enough to drive you up the wall. He hated this feeling, he always had it when he so close to the solution that he could almost feel it, but the last piece was missing. Sherlock ran erratically though his dark, curly hair and went into Catherines bedroom. Why wasn't he possible to just see it? Was it, because he could not concentrate properly? That there was an urge within him that he would rather go the hospital? But he could not do anything anyway and John was still there. He would look after these incompetent doctors so that they could not built any shit. The doctors at St. Bart's were idiot, but John was not.

Sherlock stayed in the room and looked around. Directly he noticed the fallen glass and crouched there. Catherine probably had it overturned and as a consequence got up to pick up a new one. The carpet was now dry. So it happened a long time ago.

Sherlock looked at the thrown down pillows, where Catherine had slipped over the bed with her blanket. With short steps Sherlock followed her trail, but he could see nothing unusual. Catherine was staggered into the living room, where she had lost every power and then fainted in front of the coffee table. Everything seemed normal for a dizzy spell, but this explanation seemed too easy for Sherlock. Catherine was a healthy, fit woman. She did not just faint because of a flu.

He saw the mess of textbooks, notes, class notes on her desk, which indicated that she had learned before she had become ill. Her schedule caught his eye. Monday: gfp fusion day. Interesting. So even she made organism shine using a fluorescent protein. Maybe she should show him why Bluebell had shine once.

Sherlock quickly shook his head. Sometimes his restless mind was really a pain. Too fast he let himself be distracted by emerging thoughts. Sherlock went concentrated through the rest of her flat. For lunch she had spaghetti, but Catherine had overcooked it, what was the reason why they remain in the trash and she had not even washed. Nothing of what he discovered satisfies this vague feeling in him, but Sherlock left it all, stopped there, left the apartment and took a taxi to St. Bart's.

Sherlock discovered John quickly as he walked through the corridors of St. Bart's Hospital half an hour later. He knew this hospital in and out. He had his own lab here in pathology. John also seemed to have heard his hurried steps, because he looked up in his direction.

"Sherlock." He called him and blinked once.

"What's the situation?" Said Sherlock, trying to make his voice sounding as emotionless as possible. He had always said to John that he had no feelings and he did not want to admit, that things had changed. He liked what he had previously represented too much as he wanted to admit that he has started to change. He could already feel it deep inside him.

"They are still stabilizing her." John said and he just ran his fingers through his hair. Sherlock just realised now how exhausted John looked. Deep dark circles had formed and his skin seemed a little paler than usual. That might also be caused by this impossible, cold fluorescent light. Sherlock would not be surprised. After John had returned into their flat last night, Sherlock had kept him awake in his mind storm. He had been too excited on what Catherine had told him, so that sleep had been moved far in his consciousness. John had grumbled and eventually withdrawn in his room the early morning hours. Sherlock had not noticed. Only when he had come down in the late morning, running through the kitchen, telling Sherlock something he actually had realized that John had been away.

Probably the doctor was just at the end of his tether with all the stress.

Sherlock step towards John, who was staring at the door.

"How do you assess the situation?" His flatmate blinked briefly at Sherlock, but then he sighed and looked back at the door.

"She will get through this, I guess. We've discovered her early enough so it can be treated quickly. Fortunately, he heart had not stopped beating entirely so that at least her brain was not running out of oxygen. I guess no permanent damage." The doctor explained to him and Sherlock nodded. It calmed him down a bit. It would be a shame of this not so simple-minded brain.

"Catherine is going to handle it." John added. The Consulting Detective knew he only said it to soothe himself. Sherlock saw in a corner of his eyes that John suppressed a shudder and forced himself to take a deep breath.

Quietly, he sighed and shook his head slightly. He would never understand it. It was like a book with seven seals to him, why people worried about each other, and Sherlock suspected that as soon as he opened it, his own apocalypse would follow. It has always been his strength to exclude his feelings and this allowed him to be the one he was. In Baskerville he had already discovered the fear and this feeling had frightened him more than any life-threatening situation, which he had previously experienced. No he would leave the feelings to his dear John.

"Have you at least discovered something?" Sherlock looked down at John and saw the hope in his eyes. A quiet slim escaped him and he shook his head.

"No…nothing that confirmed my hunch." Sherlock was surprised that he heard something like dejection in his voice. Was it because he was just not sure what his subconscious was trying to tell or because he had not found anything that could help her? He hoped strongly that it was the first thing.

Damn it! Now even he began to hope. Dam you, Sherlock! Pull that stick out of your ass and beat this stupid feeling back to wherever it came from.

"I see ..." John's response sounded disappointed. He leaned against the window and sighed again. Sherlock said nothing. He was thinking his own thoughts. He thought about how his life had changed since he knew John and if he could approve it. Sherlock thoughtfully pursed his lips and sank into his world of thoughts, conclusions drawn and cognitions.

"Don't you really care about her?" Johns voice was cautious, as if he was afraid of the answer. Sherlock looked at him and frowned. Then he sighed and crossed his arms over his chest.

"If it would be like that, would I be here although I have a case?" He said finally, refusing to look at John. It was strange for Sherlock to confess it, but he totally forgot about the case in the past two hours. The case could wait, because murder is not time-barred. Sherlock would have never thought that to be possible, but at this moment, he wasn't caring about the case.

"You're only here, because she offers you a new, more interesting case." John grumbled. He got an angry glance thrown by Sherlock as a reply. Did John really think this way? He quietly sighed and calmed down. It was not surprising that John just thought of him like that, even though he had just admitted to himself that it wasn't like this anymore.

"Then I would still be in her flat." He replied. His voice was colder than Sherlock had intended, but the tone had predicted, had suggested indeed that he would be a monster.

"I'm sorry…" John muttered as he realized what he had said.

"It's okay…you're hooked."

"Did you know that we were registered as her emergency contact?" John said softly after some time.

"No…"

"We should be called if something would happen to her. The nurse told me that." John's shoulders lowered frustrated and he put his hands in his pockets. It almost looked as if he wanted to kick an imaginary stone, but he stopped the movement. Sherlock sighed and shook his head.

"John…you should stop blaming yourself for something that isn't your fault and you cannot change." Sherlock said quietly, careful about making his voice as calm and factual as possible. Somehow this tone had a calming effect on the people around him. He didn't know why.

An angry look was the answer and Sherlock sighed again and looked at John.

"John…" He spoke to him again, this time in a conciliatory tone. "We can't change the given situation even if we want to. So it is useless to make accusations. We can just arrange with the given situation and consider how we can solve it. We don't have another option."

Sherlock took a deep breath and closed her eyes. That people always have to play through "what if" scenarios. What if I had stayed longer with her? What if I had remained stubborn? Why were they always asking these questions? What were they changing except that they were torturing you? The time could not be turned back once more. So, why should you think about it? The only thing that John could do was focusing on the here and now, perhaps thinking about the future, but nevertheless he did not have any impact on the future.

Maybe he should tell John that in one of the many myriad dimensions he had stayed at Catherine's side. No, no good idea. He quickly dismissed the thought. Then he would have to tell him that in another one she had died even though he had stayed. This idea was probably not good.

"We?" Asked his roommate with suspicious voice and he looked up at Sherlock. He returned his gaze and shook his head in disbelief.

"As incredible as this may seem to you, John, I'm not a monster." Sherlock was yelling at him, icier as he had intended.

Gradually, the situation began to be exhausting. The current situation needed lot empathy so that this rickety structure did not break, so she would not escalate, but Sherlock did not have it. Catherine would currently better in his position. She would be as factual as Sherlock about the situation, but at the same time she would have had plenty of empathy for John, but sadly, it was her who was now caught in her own body.

Sherlock knew that John did not meant it like that, that he was out of energy, that his feeling of guilt was eating him up, but Sherlock felt a little hurt. He was not his brother; he was not the '_Iceman_'. It was really good that he did not have to deal with such rubbish like resignation, worry or remorse. The situation was not Johns fault, everyone would confirm it, but no matter what you would say to him, he would not change his mind. In such illogical things Sherlock never wanted to be involved.

Sherlock was wondering about if he should just pull John away from the door, on which he was staring like he had been hypnotized, to have breakfast. Just at this moment the door opened.

A young nurse left the room first, followed closely by a doctor in a white coat, who Sherlock recognized as Dr. Peters. An athletic man in his nearly 50s, with early hair loss, small but bright eyes.

He had a girlfriend, but was not married. Presumably, the two did not even live together. He was still living in divorce with his ex-wife. Sherlock knew this from Molly, who had tried once to start a small talk. None of her strength.

No, dear Mr. Peters just lived together with his a cat. A Persian, Sherlock would guess, but the hair on Dr. Peters leg could not be identified from the distance.

John, next to him, stiffened and stepped forward hastily. Sherlock decided to rather watch the situation. John was better in playing the worried neighbour than him.

"How is she?" John asked. Dr. Peters threw a brief look at the medical record, while Sherlock discovered that he had been on vacation. There was a tan mark under his Rolex.

"Well…we were able to stabilize her metabolism so far." Dr Peters said. "We do not know how the coma has affected the flu. The blood test should show this. Right now, we're giving her antibiotics against the secondary infection and something to increase her immune system to fight against the influenza virus." John nodded and swallowed hard, hesitated to ask the question, which also Sherlock was a bit worried about.

"Is she going to wake up again?" Dr Peters threw a long, uneasy glance at John. That meant nothing good.

"Her medical dates say that she's strong enough to awaken, but we had decided to cause an artificial coma, so that her body could concentrate on fighting the virus within her." John bit his lips and threw a gaze at Sherlock. What should he do? Should he frightened Dr Peters so much and force him to wake Catherine up? He pulled an eyebrow. It would certainly be fun to throw his recognition on this poor doctor, Sherlock haven't done it for ages, but he restrained himself. Even when the doctors release her from the artificial coma, it was far from clear that Catherine would awake. Her body could be maintained as a protective.

"Can we see her?" Sherlock asked simply and just ignored the surprised look from John. Apparently John had expected Sherlock to give Dr Peters hell, because he had decided this without Sherlocks permission. Normally John would have been right. Sherlock did not like it to be ignored and Catherine had transferred them the responsibility for such cases, but at that moment he saw no reason for a dispute. Dr Peters nodded.

"Of course. "


	7. 7 Chapter: An assassination

6. Chapter: An assassination

Three day later, Sherlock was already on his way to St. Bart's early in the morning. The constant vibration of his mobile phone announced incoming calls from Lestrade and Mycroft, but he ignored them deliberately, although his mood gradually passed into annoyance. Unfortunately he had to blame himself. It had been him who had called Lestrade in the night of Monday and had proclaimed in excitement, that he had made a grand cognition about the murder in the warehouse- that actually Catherine had discovered had been concealed. Since then he haven't phoned the DI. No wonder that he did not leave him leave him alone. His bosses were certainly in his neck and Sherlock was kinda grateful that Lestrade gave him free hand in the cases, but he did not feel the desire to explain to the Detective Inspector that there was something more important currently. Greg would not understand anyway. Why should he? Obviously he had also complained to Mycroft now, who has terrorized Sherlock with phone calls and his brother was a master in it.

Even the taxi driver looked annoyed to Sherlock through the rear-view mirror and rolled his eyes. Was everyone annoyed so fast in these days? Phones rang constantly and always. That was really nothing extraordinary. Well, Sherlock himself was annoyed, but reason was, that Mycroft had not even left him alone at night. That Lestrade had always to run to Sherlocks brother.

Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to ignore the vibration. The easiest would have been to simply turn it off, but he could not do it for two reasons. On the one hand John could not reach him if there was anything on the other hand also Moriarty could call him any time. Both were not allowed to be missed. So his mobile phone sang his mute melody, but he ignored it all the way. Lestrade should use this head for a single time. After he had called Mycroft he would let him suffer. Nobody told Sherlock when to when he had to do something. Finally, there was something more important today. Maybe, when both were thinking that he was in his mind palace, they finally gave him a rest.

Catherine hasn't woken up the last three days, even though the artificial coma was given up the next day and the results of the investigation would be told today. The doctors had done all the crap with her. MRI, ECG, blood tests, pulse measurements and so much more that even Sherlock had felt dizzy. He hated doctors and at that moment he was a little happy that Catherine was in a coma and had noticed nothing of all this. Today all evaluations would be presented and how her treatment should be continued.

Sherlock sighed. John had spent the first and last night with her in the hospital room. If it would have been up to the doctor, he had spent all three nights in this uncomfortable chair, but in the second night both- the nurse and Sherlock himself- had laid down the law. Catherine was monitored and every drop of her values would cause an alarm immediately. What should John do? He would have started to think in her hospital room and Sherlock had wanted to avoid it. So he had just grabbed him, pulling him out of the room- ignoring his nagging- and had stayed in Johns bedroom until had taken a sleeping pill. He had been desperately tired so that even Sherlock could not account for a second night vigil.

Yesterday, however, on the third day, he had had no chance. Catherine had gotten fever again yesterday evening- just when they had been about to leave. Her body temperature had increased up to 39,2°C suddenly and from that moment it had been impossible to take John with him back to Baker Street. So Sherlock had finally just sighed and had allowed him his wish. That was the reason why Sherlock had driven home alone last night, but he also had found just a little sleep.

St Barts came in sight a few minutes later and just before Sherlock entered the hospital, he looked once again on his phone. 35 missed calls from Lestrade, 30 from Mycroft. 1-0 for the DI. Sherlock rolled his eyes and then turned off his BlackBerry. Normally he did not care about this instruction, he knew that the radiation had no effect on the medical machines, but now it was a welcomed excuse.

His eyes ran over the big, ochery building, and then he went inside. His feet found the way all alone, while Sherlock was making his thoughts. Moments later, he opened the door and right away that Dr Peters was already there and he debated wildly with John. Irritated Sherlock paused in the doorway and watched as John was speaking to him, gesturing wildly with the doctor and shook his head again and again. What was going on here? Finally, his roommate waved a hand and sent Dr Peters out. The doctor paused, blinked, but John had already turned away and sat down next to the bed of Catherine. Dr Peters sighed, turned away, threw a look at Sherlock and left the room. The door slammed.

Sherlock blinked and then went to John, sat down in the second chair.

"What happened?" He asked. John sighed and stroked his ash-blond hair.

"There's something wrong here, Sherlock."

"What did Dr Peters say?" Sherlock asked and looked at Catherine. The heart monitor beeped monotonously. Catherine looked a bit stronger even though her sight was still terrifying. Hoses came from every spots of her body. A Gastric tube, one for her urine. The doctors had only denied a lung ventilator, because John and Sherlock had insistent that she should breathe on her own.

"If you are sick, you should actually have an increased leukocyte value, right?" John said grimly and sighed again. Sherlock looked at him quizzically, but nodded.

"Sure, but ..." He gave him a questioning look and frowned. The way John was saying it indicated that something did not seem to fit into the context.

"A normal person usually has 4000-10000 white blood cells per microliter. Depending on how active the immune system is at the moment and how active the cells in the red spinal cord are, where the leucocyte were produced." John said, folding his hands in his lap.

"And it's not like that?" The dark-haired said. John shook his head and looked at the face of Catherine, which was the only thing looking out of the blanket. Sherlock started to think. He got more and more the impression that something was wrong. Lots of facts did not seem to fit into the context and the idea in his mind hardened.

"Catherine has just 1000." The blond answered then deadly serious.

"And what conclusions are you drawing from that?"

"None at all…it does not fit." The blonde growled sullenly. John chewed his lower lip and stared into space.

"What have you discussed with Dr Peters then?" Sherlocks blue eyes looked at him confused. Obviously, Dr Peters had made his judgement. Sherlock had seen it in his eyes, but John disagreed obviously.

"The interpretation of the data…" Once again john shook his head, as if he was trying to understand what was going on inside the head of the other doctor, but his mind could not understand it. He took a deep breath, then turned to Sherlock and looked at him from eyes full of disbelief. "According to Dr. Peters, Catherine is HIV positive."

Sherlock opened his eyes and could hardly supress a hollow laugh. Now, even he shook his head in disbelief.

"That cannot be. The HIV virus is only transmitted through sex or direct blood exchange." Sherlock said with his typical condescending tone. This doctor was an idiot. It was impossible. Catherine had not had sex yet and she had never shoot up.

"In his opinion she had once received a blood transfusion that was contaminated."

"But you don't believe that, John." He noted soberly.

"Now, I know it. I know that Catherine has never been to hospital in her entire life. She told me when we were talking about my job. The only alternative option is that she had unsafely sex or took drugs. And I can't imagine that she shot up."

"No…she has never shot up guaranteed. I would instantly recognize." Sherlock said firmly. John blinked at him briefly confused, but Sherlock replied with a simple look and shrugged. "What? Don't look at me like that. You know that I took drugs when I was younger. So don't bother me with that oh so shocked view, please."

For a short time, it seemed that John wanted to say something, but then he blinked and sighed and left the topic like that.

It was not like Sherlock was proud of this part of his past. On the contrary, but it had been Sherlocks only way of refuge. A constantly working brain could make you mad, you could not rest, could not sleep or relax. He had been so young and had felt that he would break up under this pressure soon. Only in drugs he had found peace and redemption. It had almost turned out bad and he would have been lost in the drug abuse. Well, Sherlock have always been reckless.

"The HI virus has not been found yet, I suppose?" Sherlock then asked to change the topic. He knew that John disapprove this part of his past. He always threw this typical threw at him, which was mixed from indignation and disappointment. Sherlock had told him a thousand times that he was no hero. Hell, he was rather insane than that, but John seemed to see something like this in him. A superman, something that was above everything. The fact was, even Sherlock had a normal body who suffered from withdraw symptoms, who was hungry and thirsty. Sherlock was not so much above things as John might think, but he could just ignore it better so that he was able to think.

John shook his head and took Catherines hand, stared at her, as if he was hoping that a long, pleading glance would wake her up.

"What do you guess what happened to Catherine?" He tried to distract the doctor with this question. Sherlock knew, when he would remind John of his profession, he would return in his professionalism. In these moments, he forgot his feelings of guilt for a little while, which he was still making. Sherlock did not know what else to at this moment.

John sighed and ran his fingers through his hair restlessly, looked back at Catherine and then back to Sherlock, before he sighed again.

"I have no idea, Sherlock. Not really. Nothing seems to fit."

"Then we should go through the facts again and see that we find a context." Sherlock said seriously and crossed his legs. John looked at him and nodded.

Ye…yes, good idea. Maybe you will see something that I've overseen."

"Then it must be something very crazy." His mouth twitched a little and John showed a little smile. The joke was weak, Sherlock knew it, but he did not know a better one. It was as if there were a leaden heaviness in this room, which stifled all lightness and even Sherlock got a bit depressed from it. It was like someone had hung a weight on his soul. Sherlock shook his head shortly to distribute the depressing thoughts and waved his hand through the air. "Then tell me all the facts we have."

"Well…as you know, Catherine has the flu." John began hesitantly, reached for the file on the foot of Catherine's bed and flipped through it.

"She really has him?" He nodded.

"Yes, the influenza virus has been found in her blood. But the rest of her blood values…" The doctor flipped a page and looked at the next test results. "…is not worrying."

"Only the amount of leukocytes id decidedly low." Sherlock murmured, letting his eyes wander. John nodded again and watched him, he could feel it, but he started to build a kind of imaginary bulletin board in his head, where he put everything that John had and would say to him.

_Flu, quarter of natural amount of white blood cells, remaining coma despite stabile vital signs_- were the first posts on his board. Now he just had to find the connection between these facts.

"It's strange that she had fever last night." John then muttered, starring now at a nondescript spot on the wall.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock ask confused and gave him a questioning look.

"Inflammation, redness, fever and so on are defensive reactions of the body to foreign body. If you have a leukopenia, which is the medical term of a low amount of white blood cells, they don't appear anymore, because leucocytes indicate this defensive mechanism."

"What could be the reasons for leukopenia?" Thoughtfully, Sherlock leaned back in his chair and put his fingers to his lips, while he arranged the new information in his thought-board.

"Anything." John made a vague gesture with his hand. "Viral infections, such as it's the case with HIV, allergic reactions, cancer, autoimmune diseases in which the bone marrow itself is viewed as foreign body and is eliminated." John shrugged. Sherlock watched him closely and saw that he had count all these possibilities out. The dark blue eyes wandered around the room, as he chewed on his bottom lip. He knew that John always did it, when he did not like something or thought about it.

"But you think that it is none of these options." He resolutely shook his head to answer Sherlocks question and cursed silently.

"Then the blood values would be different…something notable, but I find nothing. The rest is completely unremarkable. The MRI, the ECG. Her brain flow is normal, same goes with her metabolism. Actually, she should be awake already." He snorted frustrated and ran through his hair, before he put his head on the mattress. Sherlock looked at him and felt a little overwhelmed. He wanted to help John, but did not know how. Sherlock closed his eyes instead and began to go through all the facts again.

"What is going on here, Sherlock?" Muttered John, but he did not raise his head from the mattress.

"It's just not possible."

"No, it is possible, John. We just have not found out yet how it is possible." Sherlock said quietly and after some hesitation he put a hand on his shoulder. John looked up at him confused. His blue eyes shone plaintive, but also confused.

"What?" Sherlock shook his head and rubbed unconscious with a finger over his lips after he took his hand from his shoulder and looked at him thoughtfully.

"That's the problem you ordinary people." He began to explain. The snorting of John was ignored by Sherlock. He even answered it with a mischievous grin, but in reality he wanted something else to achieve with this conversation. Actually, he wanted to try to cheer John up, but in fact, he seemed to be quite incompetent.

"Ah, I don't mean it like this and you know it." Sherlock continued quietly, even with a slightly conciliatory tone in his voice. "Most of you say that the facts are impossible and discard it again. You tend to believe that you have made a mistake or the facts differ instead of breaking through the border of your thoughts."

"And you don't?" John asked, still with a bit of caution in his voice, but also with a hint interest.

"No, of course not. I rather think that the facts are right, although the solution seems to be unbelievable. When the impossible is confuted, the only thing left is the solution, no matter how impossible she is." Sherlock view slid to John and a slim, timid smile touched his lips. "I believe you that the usual explanations do not apply in Catherine's case. So we must now turn to unusual observation. Do you understand?"

John looked long at him, blinked confused. Was it really so hard to understand? Did Sherlock express himself so complicated? He had truly believed that he had expressed it easily and John would understand. He could have thrown technical terms at him, but that would only make the situation even more fragile, so he decided to calm himself and to be compassionate.

"What I mean is…" Sherlock started and waved with his hand to emphasize his words. "Most people say: 'Ok, these are the facts, but they're impossible, so we gonna check them until they match up.' However, I trust in what I found out and say: 'Well, those are the facts. How can I get them into a context?' Do you understand, John? These are two different ways to see the given facts." When Sherlock ended, he looked at his flat mate, who thought about his words and weighed them. His blue eyes looked thoughtfully at him, before he finally nodded.

"And you think that your way of thinking is right?" Sherlock shrugged.

"Maybe, maybe not. Who the hell knows?" Perhaps it is sometime for a proper, sometimes the other, but since In this case the first option does not seem to work, she should at least try the second one, right?" John pursed his lips and nodded then. Sherlock smiled back slightly and leaned back in his chair, folded his hands on his lips.

Silently, he looked at his imaginary board and started thinking.

Fact was: Catherine had the flu and a low amount of leucocytes. The reduced immune system could be responsible for her coma, but apparently no one had found a solution, what the reason was. The typical explanation did not seem to…wait!

Sherlock paused and blinked. Typical explanation…maybe it was…A thought began to take shape in his head. What if it could not be explained with conventional opinions? What if you had to look at it the other way around?

"Oh…" Said Sherlock and lowered slowly his hands. He opened his eyes and did not recognize that John have looked at him pervasive all the time, while he had thought.

"Do you have an idea?" John asked and looked at him. Sherlock stood up, driven by his idea, and ran across the room. His mind began to race, gradually formed cognition. Finally, he stopped in front of the window and looked out of it, watched how the first leaves fall from the trees.

"How long is the incubation period of influenza, John?" He asked without turning back.

"Usually a few hours."

"Hmm…when did she became sick? Sunday morning, right? That means that she have been infected on Saturday morning…Saturday morning…Saturday morning…what did she do on Saturday morning?" His voice cracked almost as a storm of memories flooded him. Pictures rained on him, vying for the attention of his mind, but with a gesture, he made them stop and they just fly by in slow motion in front of his eyes. With a few gestures, he pushed aside some if they were unimportant or pulled them closer if they were important. But then it seemed as spark skipped over and ignite the solution in him. A small event, which he had graduated as unimportant and had thrown somewhere in his memory palace, had appeared now. Oh, how had he could classify it as something insignificant?

"Sherlock?" John tore him out of his thoughts. Shortly, Sherlock had the urge to snort frustrated at him again, because John had dare to interrupt him, but the idea had already been manifested, so he did not lose it and refrained this urge for now. Slowly he turned to John and looked at him.

"What if the flu is not the cause of the leukopenia, but it's the result?" His eyes lit up witch excitement as asked his question. John did not seem to understand. He just frowned. Seriously, how could someone live with such a slow brain? That had to be horrible frustrating. But maybe the adage was fitting here: What you do not know cannot be missed.

"What do you mean?" John now asked, confirming Sherlocks conjecture. An angry snort escaped him before he could stop it. Could John not at least once use his mind? Had Sherlock not taught him long enough that he should be able to start thinking for himself? Why did he have to explain everything in great detail? It was really frustrating. Sherlock had always thought that you had to have a minimum of intelligence to study medicine.

But when he saw Johns view, Sherlock forced him to stay calm and took a deep breath. John was at the end of his limits, he was desperate and frustrated. He had fought around often enough with dumper doctors in the last three days. Woe, If Catherine would not be grateful for it. Then Sherlock would kick her ass.

He put a smile on his lips and went up to John. It probably did not look real, he was never very good to let his eyes smile, too, but he hoped that John would notice, what he was trying to aim with it.

"What if the flu was just a random result and the leukopenia was the real goal?" His thoughtful voice floated across the room and made John cringe. This question seemed to bring his mind in motion. Sherlock wanted to help him that he would be able to recognize it himself. Perhaps it would encourage him a little and it would cheer him up.

"Wait…what?" Are you saying that she had the leukopenia first and that was the reason why she got the flu?" John looked with disbelief at Sherlock and rose in his chair.

"The possibility is there at least." Sherlock simply said.

"But how is that possible?"

"Good." He looked at him and smiled. "You're beginning to ask the right questions, John. Just go ahead." Maybe that would help John. It always helped Sherlock to distract himself, if he could use his brain. He did not know if it would work with john as well, but Sherlock did not know another way to help. In such a small moment, he wished that he could have a kind of switch for emotions. When he needed it, he could flip the switch to on and then put it back again and was able to keep the distance again.

John struggled with hands and chewed on his lower lip. His blue eyes wandered restlessly back and forth and Sherlock found it amusing to watch another one while he was thinking.

"So ... Catherine's immune system has been weakened somehow ... and therefore she got a flu ... so how was it weakened? She has never showed the typical symptoms of leukopenia ... "John said thoughtfully. "So how ... how ... how ... how?"

"What if it was intended?" Sherlock gave him a little hint.

"The intention ... but that's impo ..." John paused, blinked and threw a shocked look at Sherlock, so he was sure now that the penny had dropped. "Wait, you said you had a strange feeling in her apartment?" Sherlock nodded again and looked at him with serious eyes.

"It was as if I could feel criminal intent. Not that I believe in it, but it was just a hunch in me. "

"Maybe a poison." Murmured the doctor. "But I don't know a poison that reduces leukocyte ... and then would the toxicological tests have shown anything yet."

"What did Dr Stapelton had said back in Baskerville? If it is possible, anyone anywhere does it guaranteed. Only the ethics determines the limits of science. "Sherlock said quietly and his grey eyes wandered through the hospital room. "It can be a chemical, a modified inhibitor for leukocyte or something like that ..."

"Wait a minute, now very slowly." Shaking his head, John lifted his hand as if to stop the thoughts that came to him t. "Are you implying, Sherlock ... that some had poisoned Catherine or whatever ?"

"That would be a logical explanation." Sherlock nodded affirming. That was exactly what he had been thinking all the time.

"But why?" John cried out in horror and almost jumped off his chair. Incredulous, he shook his head, his face ashen. "That could easily mean her death ... ... Oh God, Sherlock! They wanted to kill her!" Sherlock just nodded and gave him a thoughtful look. He saw that John did not want to see the truth that he did not want to believe it. But they had excluded the impossible and the possible remained. Now he knew why he had felt this criminal activity in their apartment.

Sherlock had been obviously wrong, John was not proud that he had found it out. Human feelings were really complicated. Actually, he could have guessed it. John was too…-Sherlock was looking for the right word-…conceptually bound to the values of the society. Actually he should have known that his flat mate would be rather shocked than cheered up, but maybe Sherlock was still able to let it end positive. Finally, they knew what to look for now and maybe they could lead it to a happy end. Not that he was really interested, but when John was depressed, living together with him was much more strenuous and almost unbearable for Sherlock. Romantically music all day, lots of soaps in TV and a considerable amount of alcohol, coupled with a lot of self-pity. Oh, no! Well…maybe he also wanted to help John a little. But really just a little bit. He had no heart, no, Sherlock Holmes had no heart. Hopefully. Damn it! Not that stupid feeling again!

/Sherlock, forget that!/ He told himself silently. /This just promises to become a quiet interesting case. Concentrate on it!/

"I have an idea for the reason…" He admitted finally. "But I need to check something for it." He took a deep breath and his eyes began to glow. "But if I'm right, then this promises to be very exciting." Excited, he clapped his hands and even circulated a bit around his axe. A biochemical attack! Right under his nose! Oh, it just sounded too good to be true.

"Sherlock!" John hissed and gave him an angry look. Irritated, he paused and looked at his only friend. "You cannot even pay attention to the timing? Catherine should have been killed and you jump around here like a kid that got a game console for Christmas." John's voice trembled from rage, and his eyes sparkled at him intently. For a brief moment Sherlock was so surprised that he almost apologized, but then something else happened.

"No…not so loud…" Came a raspy voice from the bed, let the two friends turning around.

"Catherine." Both cried out simultaneously. Tired, dull, bright, blue eyes looked at them, blinked confused.

"You're awake?" Johns formulate it as a question, but it was a statement. Big, blue eyes looked down at her.

"Ob…" She coughed heavily and closed her eyes. "…viously." A small, faint smile touched her still pale lips.

Then her gaze went back to the ceiling and frowned.

"Where…am I here…?"

"In St. Bart's. You were three days unconscious." Before John could say anything, Sherlock had shoved him aside and stepped in front of her. He believed that it was better that he answered the question. Catherine was confused, so it was better if someone told her calmly and rationally what had happened. Everything else would just upset her unnecessarily. Shortly he heard a slight murmur in his back, but then John seemed to understand as well that it was better like this. At least he left the room. Presumably to fetch one of the nurse.

"Unconscious…" She whispered weakly, but her eyes widened in shock.

"Shh…" Was all he said as he sat down on the chair next to her. "It's all right."

"Nothing…is all right. I was…in…coma…" Her eyes moved slowly to Sherlock and he saw that she was still in great pain. He slowly stood up, looked down at her. Catherine tried to return it, but her eyes closed. He sighed quietly.

"Do not worry, Catherine, just sleep for a while." He turned to leave. Sherlock wanted to go back to Baker Street to check his suspicion that he had about what had happened. With long steps, he left the room.

"Sher…lock…" She called after him with all of her remaining power. Her voice was still shaky, but she tried to stop him. He did, waited, but did not look at her. "Haw you…caught…the killer…from the warehouse?"

Sherlock had to admit that he was a little surprised by this question. He had thought that she would beg him to stay, that she would tell him that she'd had so much pain. That would ordinary people do, right? But Catherine was not ordinary.

"No…" He said quietly, holding in his firm stance. He wanted to show no emotion. It should be just a simple statement. Just as he was about to leave, he heard her voice again.

"That's…my fault…" She murmured softly. Oh yeah, it was her damn fault and now she held him away from his work again. "I'm really useless."

Sherlock gradually lost patience. Did she want the compassion tour now? Should he go to her, pat her head and say something like: _Oh no. It was not your fault that you've fallen into a coma._ Ok, it wasn't her fault, but he didn't have to rub her nose in it. Oh no, anything but that he would do. That would be too stressful. Why did people always have to actually swim in self-pity and begging to be pitied? Catherine could wait until for ever before she would hear anything like this from him. If he would, he had to be careful that he did not slip on the mucus that he would secrete.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock…I did not want to bar you from it…" Just as he was about to go, he heard the faint of her voice. It was the first sentence she was able to speak in its whole and it made him stop. He briefly closed his eyes.

"Never mind." He said after some hesitation. She did not want pity. Surprisingly. She had just honestly apologized for having kept him away from work. He turned his head around shortly. "I must go now. Find out something. John is certainly right back here and will hold your hand, what you want so much." Why was a swung of contempt in his voice? Catherine had done nothing for which he could despise her. But one thing was clear, the hit had been sitting. Her blue eyes looked at him in shock, then she closed them and murmured again:

"I'm sorry…" What was hardly to hear for Sherlock and he also did not want to hear. Sometimes he did not know himself. Something besides his irritation was growing in his head, made him drove out of the hospital briskly.

/I'll find him, whoever has done this to you./ Sherlock thought, when he called a cab.

Three minutes later, John came back into the hospital room, followed by two young sisters who wanted to investigate Catherine obviously, but she felt uncomfortable about it. She turned her head to him, looked imploringly at John until he sighed and shook his head resignedly and then sent the nurse away.

"Where is Sherlock?" He asked after she two nurses had left the room and had closed the door.

"Gone…" She brought out hard and looked up to him.

"Typical…" John sighed and sat down next to her on the bed. She hated hospitals, she had told him that. You just came here, if you were really ill, she had meant. Therefore, she hated these places. Here happened nothing good.

"How are you?"

"Tired…" She mumbled and John noticed that speaking was still very difficult for her. She wanted to raise her hand to stretch it out, but then she felt an uncomfortable pulling in her hand. She pulled her hand out of the blanket and froze when she spotted the two aditus. One was in the dorsum of the hand the other in her crook of the arm. With wide eyes she looked to her left and saw all the machines to which she was connected. Horrified, she threw her head back and forth and discovered more and more machines.

Panic flooded over her and brought nausea and a queasy feeling in her stomach. Catherine choked, coughed and her eyes were shivering. Good God, she was in the hospital! In the hospital! Just now she began to understand the meaning of Sherlock. She had been lying in a coma. For three days! The panic was stronger, came over her like a wave of ice water. She gasped; her breath came short as she began to tear on the aditus. All this did not mean something good! It was not good! She had to get out of here! Out, out, out! She had to get out of these sterile, white walls, which made her believe, that she was in a loony bin.

"Catherine!" She heard John's deep, calm voice as of a faraway place. "Calm down! It's all good. Everything is good, now, do you understand?"

Catherine just shook her head dumbfounded. Everything was fine? Who wanted John to make believe this? She wanted to say something, yell at him, but no sound left her mouth, instead spread a fire through her throat, leaving her whimpering and let her sink back into the pillow. Catherine looked frantically to John. Her eyes trembled with sheer anxiety.

"Calm down…sh…I'm here. Everything is fine." John whispered softly, taking her hand. "It'll be alright, Catherine. Nothing will happen, ok?"

Because of sudden warmth that emanated from his touch, she stopped and looked at him. Compassion and peace were in his deep blue eyes and she took a trembling breath, but finally nodded. Everything was alright. John was here. He would look after her. Slowly, the trembling of her body went away and she clutched his hand a little tighter.

Catherine felt really bad. Her head throbbed uncomfortable while her thoughts were so sluggish like jelly. She was also terrible tired, it felt like a leaden heaviness. It was an act of state to keep her eyes open; to speak was nearly a wonder of the world, especially since her throat was dry. The Sahara was nothing against this. The rest of her body, however, was cold and numb, as if they were asleep. Only her hand was warm, because John held it.

Catherine was looking for his eyes to find something she could concentrate on. John looked at her calmly, let her calm down and said nothing.

No Catherine saw how tired and ill the doctor looked. He blinked tired, had thick dark circles around the eyes and stubble. Generally, it seemed as if he was at the end of his strength, but he held on and fought against it. He certainly had not changed his clothes. But why? Catherine slowly began to think and found a blanket, which had been draped over the back of a second chair and it fell like scales from her eyes. John must have stayed at her side while she had been in a coma. Perhaps he had even fought with the other doctors, stood up for her and yet he said nothing, asked for nothing.

Slowly she turned her head to him and smiled at him. It took all her strength, but she did it.

"Thanks, John…for everything…" She whispered weakly. John smiled timidly and leaned a little nearer.

"You have made me jump. "

"Sorry…" They looked at each other briefly, but then began to laugh softly. Catherine's throat protested strongly, but she did not care. It was not about her, now, she just wanted to give John something back for what he had done in the past three days for her. At least for John, because she had seemed to annoy Sherlock. This contempt that had been in his tone in his last, evil comment had hurt her. She had never wanted to make any circumstances and Sherlock made sure that he hated vigil, but he had stayed at her side, even though he had not found the murderer of the warehouse yet. That thought let her feel quite queasy.

Shortly, she pressed John's hand again, and then let her go, but still looking at him with serious eyes.

"Go home, John. You desperately need sleep." She whispered softly, looking at him. John on the other hand, looked at her incredulously, shaking his head. "I'll just sleep anyway…I'm tired…so please!" She looked at him imploringly. Her big eyes were begging so that he finally found peace.

John answered her gaze for a long time, paused and sighed as he ran through his hair.

"You won't accept a 'no', right?" Catherine smiled and nodded slightly amused.

"I can be as stubborn as Sherlock...but I'm more charming." She replied innocently. A laugh came from the doctor, but then he sighed and nodded.

"All right…otherwise I have to watch this innocent look the whole evening."

"And an irresistible gaze through my long eyelashes." Again they both laughed. John finally stood up slowly, said goodbye and went to the door.

"John…what have you been fighting about when I woke up?" The doctor stopped shortly, weighed his head thoughtfully, but then he turned around with a smile.

"The usual stuff. You know how Sherlock is like." Catherine was sceptical for a short moment, but the smile convinced her and she nodded smiling. Then, overcame by fatigue, she closed her eyes. Thus she did not see how John's smile faded as he walked through the door and as he was ashamed, because he had lied to her.

Sherlock looked up from several documents, when John entered the apartment. Disgruntled John started of his jacket and went into his living room.

"Oh, you are still awake?" He asked in surprise and drew his eyebrows together.

"Obviously." Sherlock replied annoyed and turned back to his papers, looked at her, sorted it in a strange system and wrote down things. That surprised John. Sherlock never wrote something out.

"What are you doing, Sherlock?" He asked when he began to make a cup of tea. Sherlock snorted and gave him an angry look.

"Pursue a suggestion…" He replied, but in a surprisingly simple. John realized that he just wanted to work in peace, but he could not resist the question.

"You won't tell me what the suggestion is, right?"

"No." Sherlock's voice was dark and dangerous. John was close to make him angry. Whatever he was doing, it had to be complicated. That was the reason why John decided to retire together with the tea in his room, though he doubted he would find sleep this night. How could one find peace in this storm of knowledge that this day had brought?

The next morning had brought a big bang for the two men. When they had arrived at the hospital, Catherine's room had been empty. John had immediately run to the nursed and they had learnt, that she already left the hospital. This callousness within the voice of the elder nurse had even brought Sherlock up the wall. Her vital signs had been stable and she had been fit enough to go home, had been the only thing she had said. Was everyone here incompetent? The girl had been in a coma for three days and they had let her go so easily? And how could Catherine be that stupid?

Now, they were back in the taxi, John in front of him, and drove back to Baker Street as far as possible.

At the hospital, things had overturned. While John was foaming with rage and stormed out of the hospital, Sherlock remained at his place for a few moments. His mind had begun to race in his head. Shortly, he had closed his eyes and started to think, till a realization had hit him harder than a hammer. Immediately, he had run after John, had called to him that they had to hurry, because if Sherlock had not mistaken- and he never did- then Catherine was in great danger.

Now, they drove back to her apartment in the hope that they were fast enough. Sherlock slowly solved his look from the strikes of central London. He looked at John and noticed his irritated look. No wonder. Sherlock had not told him what he had found.

"Catherine's brother was not the victim of a simple holdup murder." Sherlock began and sank back into the seat. John looked at him, but then nodded.

"Yes, i got this conclusion as I looked at the file as well. Everything was too normal." Sherlock nodded and let his gaze wander.

"On Saturday morning, Catherine has brought me something that she had found at a clean-up. It were documents of her brother that she had found under a second floor in his desk. She say this at least. I did not initially considered as important. They look like ordinary documents and every person has sometimes strange ideas. Why should Jeffrey not hide them under a second floor? But…after yesterday…"

"You started to believe that these documents were responsible for the attack?" John asked incredulously.

"It was not easy, but after a while I found out that they were only flimsy unimportant, but under UV light, they show all of their destructive content."

"The documents from last night…" John breathed in and shook his head. "What were they about?"

"Jeffrey was probably not a simple high-employee of a real estate company. The documents were copies of engagement letters of the company to Serbs. Drugs, prostitution, human trafficking. Every crime you could think of."

"Serbs? But how did Jeffrey get in contact with Serbs?"

"I do not know exactly." Sherlock admitted and ran over his lips thoughtfully. "But I think he was actually a spy."

"A spy?" Repeated John and shook his head. "Jesus! Where has Catherine got into?"

"In powers that she cannot control." Sherlock said simply. "And she probably do not even know about. I don't think she knows that her brother was a spy. I think that Jeffrey wanted to use them as an evidence to prosecute the perpetrators. He was very accurate what that concerned, but apparently were the backers faster."

"They killed him…" Sherlock nodded again.

"You have seen the reports of his death. Nothing was stolen, but the whole apartment was searched for something."

"They were looking for the documents." Well, John seemed to begin to understand.

"And, obviously, could not found them."

"That's why they poisoned Catherine. She should not find them, but why only now? She has lived for three months in the Baker Street." John blinked confused, thought excitedly.

"I'm not sure, but I think the reason was, because she found them and gave them to me. Either it was her brother himself, who poisoned the envelope so that the one who will find it, could not use it but I consider this as unlikely. Such substances are usually not very long active and the risk was too high. It could go wrong too easy. So the Serbs are more likely. But why now? That you have correctly identified. If they really want to prevent Catherine from finding them, they could just kill her the same way. Why should they made such an effort and puzzle out such a clever method? They had done it with Jeffrey that it looked like a normal robbery. So why should they make such an effort to kill his sister?"

"Because Catherine should find the documents for them." John's eyes widened in shock, when he realised what his friends was thinking about. Sherlock nodded, rubbed his lower lip and looked out of the window. Next right, straight ahead, over next left, commuter traffic, building site. With a bit luck, they would have reached Baker Street in five minutes. They could only hope that they were faster than the Serbs.

"Right…she should disappear as inconspicuously as possible, so that no one would consider a connection to her brother. If the method would have worked, it would like if she died as a result of some disease. In this case it's the flu. No one would be suspicious."

"No one except you." Said John thoughtfully.

"Well, that's my job." Sherlock said quietly. "But if I'm right, that means that she's in danger. The plan of the Serbs failed. Catherine is alive and has even passed the information to me. As good as this ring is constructed, I guess they know who I am and how good I am and that's the reason why they have to…" Sherlock hesitated, waved helplessly with his hand in the air. "….to make arrangements. Catherine is now a risk factor they will not tolerate. However, they will not risk it to kill her in her apartment. Too conspicuous." Sherlock sighed heavily and rubbed his eyebrows. It was a race against the time, but he did not believe that they could still win this. This illegal ring was too well organized as that they would not know, that Catherine had left the hospital.

She had a lead of half an hour.

"Jesus!" John said breathlessly, his eyes widen by fear. "Sherlock, we must do something!"

"What do you think, are we doing now?" Sherlock replied gravely. "The taxi drives as fast as possible and per foot, we are not even faster. We have no choice but to persevere. "

Five minutes later the two stormed almost out of the cab. Sherlock had already paid, he knew the price of the cab route too well, and through the entrance of 220. Right when they were running up the stairs, Sherlock felt that something was wrong. He heard the squeak of an open window and his mind concluded quickly that that meant. When John hasted past Sherlock, Sherlock grabbed his arm and pulled him behind the wall.

"Slow down, John!" He admonished him and handed him a gun. "We don't know if the Serbs are still in the apartment and you don't help Catherine when you're blindly running into a trap."

John gave him a look, bit his lip and nodded. He took the gun from Sherlock and together they covered the last stairs, opened the door ajar. The creaking seemed to fill the whole air and Sherlock felt how John shuddered, then they looked at each other, nodded and ran inside.

Sherlocks conjecture was unfortunately confirmed immediately.

The apartment was pure chaos. Chairs, armchairs and a vase had been overturned, were evidence of a fight. Catherine had probably stepped in the apartment where the Serbs had been waiting for her and they had overwhelmed her. She had defended herself to be beaten, kicked after them, but it had all been of no avail. She had been still too weak and Sherlock suggested that at least three men had been here. After they had knocked off Catherine, they had been gone with her over the fire escape, which ended in a narrow side street, which had covered them from curious views.

Sherlock took a hard breath, closed his eyes and pressed his lips together. Too late! They were too late! He had not been fast enough. Damn it! Now the race became even faster. Kidnapping victims died mostly within the first 48 hours and the killer wanted to eliminate Catherine probably as soon as they were unobserved. He did not have much time to find her, if he wanted to save her. Presumably, he had to deal here with two different cells of the ring. As with the black lotus. One was for smuggling and the other for murdering and probably no one knew who was in the other one. That was important, should someone be caught. But that might force Sherlock into a decision at any time. Rather he wanted to find the assassination cell or to free Catherine.

"God…" He heard a whisper from john as he stepped beside him and looked around, while he lowered his gun hopelessly. "What happened here?"

"Is not that obvious, John?" Sherlock replied with sinister voice, turned to him and stared at him with rigid, grey-blue eyes. "Catherine has been kidnapped."


	8. 8 Chapter: Torture

7. Chapter: Torture

She did not know how long she have been trapped in this hell already, but for now she just wanted nothing more than to die at last. Catherine was afraid, scared to death and yet at the same time longing for death. She just wanted that this nightmare finally has an end.

Since she had waked up, she had not seen anything else except white tiled walls, which were looking silently back at her. Catherine was trapped in a prison cell of about five square meters in which was nothing out of a shabby mattress and a bucket to relieve herself. Only bright, cold light of a simple neon lip lightened her cage and each of her steps was watched by four surveillance cameras.

Catherine did not know how long she had been unconscious after three masked men had knocked her off in her apartment.

The first hour- at least she thought that it had been an hours- she had spent in full isolation. No sound, no contact, no communication with outside. Absolutely nothing. It was as if she had been exposed to an icy, white planet.

Soon Catherine had started to talk with herself and had run restless as a caged animal through her cell. People were social beings- at least most of them- but Catherine was deprived of contact in a frightening situation. There was no support, no assisted for her and so she had to the feeling of losing the ground.

Right afterwards, she had shouted at the camera, asked what they wanted from her, but the glass of the lens had remained silent. So it was gone again and again. Like a cycle. Probably the whole thing had gone for several hours, but for her it seemed like it had been years.

Eventually Catherine had given up and crawled to the mattress. She had been still weak and the constant stress situation had sapped the strength of her body. Always he had been tense, ready to attack the unknown enemy. Escape was ultimately difficult in this small cell.

When the exhaustion had won, she had crawled back to the mattress like a wounded animal to get some sleep. Well, she was a bit too hastily about it.

Just as she had been about to fall asleep at last, the light in her cell had suddenly become glaringly bright. Completely blind, she had jumped up and stumbled through her prison. Then this bloodcurdling horn had been added, which had completely disoriented Catherine. Completely helpless she had stumbled through the cell and had fallen more than once. The monotonous horn had become louder and louder, branded in her ears and had brought her even physical pain.

Catherine had huddled in a corner terrifies, pressed her hands over her ears, even if it had been pointless and had finally shouted against this all absorbing noise in blind despair. Then it had been silent suddenly and the light had faded.

So the game kept going. Every time Catherine was about to fall asleep, she was tormented by the brilliant light and the deafening noise.

Sleep deprivation, fear and paranoia were the result.

Catherine was not stupid. She knew what her captors were trying to do. They wanted to break her mind and they were damn near it. Not much longer and it would drive her crazy. Her body was consistently under stress and even though the silence was ruling her little world right now, she knew only too well that her body will soon cry for sleep and thus inevitably nightmare would repeat. She waited formally for it.

For several hours, she ran totally apathetically through her prison, banged on the walls until her fingers bled in the hope that there was any reaction from the outside, but the cool tile remained silent.

The only thing that remained in this unbearable silence was Catherines mind and she would even lose him.

Sleep and food deprivation inevitably led to hallucinations, which meant that she could soon no longer rely on her own mind. But at least it also told her that she could not be in this cell for more than 36 hours, because after this time, these phenomena appeared. Also that she have not died of thirst yet, was an indication that she was not too long here, even she almost believed that she had spent her entire life here.

Catherine also knew that she only had a few hours to think about a plan to escape, before her mind would leave her. But she did not know how. The tiles on the wall were seamlessly integrated into each other and she could nowhere see something similar to a door, where she could take position to attack a guard, who would bring her food. Because some would come, she knew that for sure. Whatever the reason for her kidnapping was- and she really had no idea- she should not be killed. If this would be the case, they would have done it long ago and would not even bother to break her psyche. No, Catherine was pretty sure that should stay alive. The question was why. She had no idea why she was trapped here. She quickly pushed the question aside. The reason why was irrelevant. It was important that she found a way to escape.

Slowly she lifted her head from her knees, where she had laid them. For quite a while, she sat huddled in the far corner and tried to think. Her legs were asleep from this defensive position, but she did not dare to give her up. She did not know when there was a chance. In the cell, there was absolutely nothing that could help her. Nothing she could use to strike if anyone who entered his room. The bucket was made of simple plastic, so she could overwhelm anyone with it.

Damn it! Her chanced were really slim. Her only chance was to be quick enough in the moment when the door was opened. But she supposed many guards here and she had no idea how this bunker was built. This plan was doomed to failure and she did not even dare to think about, what then would happen to her.

The other alternative was that some came to rescue her. But who would that be? The only why were John and Sherlock and that she did not count on them. She did not even know why she had been kidnapped so how could Sherlock know? Especially since he had made more than clear how much she had disgusted him.

Trembling, Catherine took a deep breath and tried to suppress the tears that looked for their unstoppable way. It brought nothing to cry now. She had to stay calm and continue to think. No one would come to save her. She had, after all, no one more. So she had to think about a solution on her own and fight for her life. No matter how difficult it would be.

"I cannot give you any information, brother. I'm sorry." Mycroft simply said at the other end of the line with the typical cold tone in his voice. Sherlock growled irritably. It was not bearable. Since half an hour he telephoned with his brother, trying to get information that might help him to find Catherine, but Mycroft had decided to be stubborn.

"As if you're sorry." Sherlock replied coolly annoyed and began to walk through the apartment, where he was observed by John. They were running out of time and Mycroft had nothing better to do than playing out his power card. "Mycroft, it's not a bagatelle. Her life is in danger."

"She is already dead, Sherlock. I need not to explain the rules of kidnapping to you?" He could almost hear how his brother pulled up an eyebrow and he also did not miss the mocking undertone.

"No, she is not dead!" He replied violently and stopped in the middle of the living room. Sherlock narrowed angrily his eyes and his hand, which was holding his Blackberry, trembled. "If the kidnappers had wanted to kill her, they would have done it directly in London. There are plenty of corners where they can do it quietly, but Lestrade has not found a dead body. Nowhere." A gentle sigh came from Mycroft and he heard how he used a tone, which was often used to dissuade a child of a very stupid mistake.

"You said it yourself. They probably know who you are. They will not be so stupid to kill her in your area. "

"But Lestrade has requested in all other committees. Nothing. She's still alive, Mycroft, and that means that the kidnappers want something from her." Sherlock took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. It did not matter if he now also mixed it up with the family feud. It would only make Mycroft repellent and prevent any chance. "They must have fled out of country and if they did, then you know about it, Mycroft."

"No, I'm sorry. I know nothing." It came too quickly from his brother. Sherlock lowered his eyebrows and let out a quivering. His brother was always getting on his nerves, but this power struggle really went too far here. It was not about them both anymore. It was about Catherine, whose life was in the greatest danger.

"You can really do much with me, but don't take me for a fool. That does not work." Sherlock hissed and bit his lower lip angrily.

"Nothing could be further from my thoughts." Came quietly from Mycroft, but Sherlock knew that tone all too well. He meant the exact opposite.

"A spy against a criminal ring of Serbs was murdered right next door, his younger sister was a victim of a poison attack which she just survived briefly and is brought out of the country to be killed there and you want to tell me that you're knowing nothing?" Sherlock's voice dripped with rage, the veins in his neck bulged and he clenched his teeth. If they did not do something soon, they would come too late. Sherlock had the suspicion that the kidnappers were hoping for information from Catherine and they would torture her and even if Catherine was mentally strong, so give her just a few days to resist. The methods of such a gang were good enough. These people knew how they got information. Catherine had none so they would classify her as worthless and would pretty quick kill her.

Sherlock would prefer to just hang up, but he needed his brother to find Catherine and Mycroft knew only too well.

His breathing was getting harder and he also saw how John tensed up in his chair and watched Sherlock responses accurately to find out what Mycroft said.

For some time there was silence on the other end of the line. He probably thought his next move, but the impatient grew in Sherlock. The situation was tense and could escalate easily.

"She's just a simple girl. What's so interesting about her, Sherlock?" Mycroft said and then suddenly something lurking was in his voice. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, threw a short glance to John, shrugged his shoulders to signal him that he had no idea what his older brother was going to do now, while he thought about what to say.

Catherine had not told Mycroft when he questioned her. She had told none of their "relationship", but Sherlock was sure that Mycroft already knew more. He had to appreciate just how much, because it was crucial for the further course of this conversation.

"It's not about Catherine ...she means nothing to me." Sherlock finally answered cautiously, however, with enough conviction in his voice. From the corner of his eye he saw that John already jumped up and wanted to respond violently something, but Sherlock brusquely waved his hand and signalized him to stop. Sherlock knew that he had to leave the substantive way to perhaps convince Mycroft. He was already cold hearted, but his brother still topped him by far. Mycroft still managed preserving the appearance as a symbol of the British government; to be calm, composed and polite, but Sherlock knew him better. In truth, his brother was more calculating and manipulative than himself, he was called 'Iceman' without a reason, because where Sherlock sometimes showed emotions like joy or frustration, Mycroft was ice cold. To go to the emotional level was in this case pointless. "It's just about that they dared to do such an attack right under my nose." Mycroft hesitated and obviously weighed Sherlock statements.

"Sherlock ... these men are dangerous." His older brother said slowly, as if he was prowling carefully on it. "This ring is well organized and ready to extremes."

"Then I'll just have to blow him." Sherlock's voice left no doubt that he believed it. If someone could manage to do it then it was him. Nobody could hold a candle to him.

"Even you won't be able to do that, dear brother." Mycroft's voice suddenly swung around into cold, cold as ice. Mycroft brooked no argument. He definitely did not want that Sherlock exposed to this danger, not even Sherlock could miss that.

"Mycroft, I'm flying to Serbia- no matter what. You now have a choice: either you give me any information that you have and thus raise the likelihood that your little brother return safely or you can keep it. Your decision." Sherlock could almost hear Mycroft frustration. He also saw how irritated John pulled up an eyebrow and looked at him questioningly. The dark-haired winked at him briefly and his famous smile touched her lips. So John and Catherine think that Mycroft was a clucking hen? Well, then Sherlock should use it. John blinked, but then understood, and only shook his head, smiling slightly. Although the situation was almost unbearable- it even ate at Sherlock's nerves- the doctor could not deny a small smile. Probably a desperate try to get along with the situation.

Sherlock finally heard a sigh on the other end of the line. Again he grinned a little wider. Victory! His brother always sighed liked this when he gave up.

"You cannot be stopped anyway ..." Mycroft suddenly sounded tired and even a little worried, but why was not Sherlocks concern right now. "What do you need?"

"Information. As many as you have and probably a jet, but not one of the government. They are so obvious." Sherlock said again seriously. His eyebrows were lowered. The power play was over, now it came to planning and with this enemy, the plan had to be darn good.

Monotony would probably not last forever, even if it was so cruel. After about a day, so at least Catherine thought, something changed. Something had to have happened, because out of the bare, white wall peeled off suddenly the outline of a door and it swung open, but before she could even see anything, it was pitch dark in their prison.

Catherine pressed herself as far as she was able in the corner when she heard footsteps. Hastily, blindly groping to herself, she tried to avoid them, because they did not want to know what was going to happen next, but the reflected echo of the footsteps disorientated her so that she could not make out where they came from. She stared blindly into the darkness, trying to identify, but she was delivered perfectly.

Suddenly, they were behind her, she could feel it. Catherine wanted to move away, but she was grabbed roughly by her hair, pulled her head brutally into the neck. A groan escaped her as a burning sensation ran over scalp. Something soft was placed around her eyes. Probably a towel, but she did not notice it. Panic welled up inside her and her body began to tremble inevitably. What were they going to do? What would happen now? Would they kill her?

Then the light went on again, that she could see dimly, but Catherine had a cloth or something similar in front of her eyes. She could not see anything, just differentiate bright from dark.

Behind her, a man growled something in a foreign language and the grip on her hair tightened. Catherine hissed and tried to fight against it, but he was just too strong.

"Where are they?" An icy voice asked with a hard accent. Catherine shuddered with fear and began to tremble. The voice had a dangerous, violent undertone, so Catherine had no doubt that a wrong answer would have painful consequences and probably the wrong answer was given quickly.

"Answer me!" Roared the man's voice and Catherine suddenly felt a sharp blow to her cheek. Her vision exploded in a sea of colours and she pounded hard on the floor. She remained whimpering on the floor, curled together like an embryo, because she expected more hits, but instead she was pressed more firmly on the ground. She moaned, as a strong pressure weighing on her chest and she tried desperately to breathe. Presumably one had placed a foot on her chest.

"Where are the drugs?" Said another voice above her. Catherine froze and stopped breathing. Drugs? What kind of drugs? What went on here?

"What kind of drugs?" She gasped intently and immediately got a kick in the ribs. Catherine screamed in pain and tried to escape from the foot, but the one onto her chest held her on the ground so that she also could not avoid the next.

"The drugs that your brother has stolen from us." The first voice whispered dangerously close to her ear. Panic washed over Catherine's sense. Jeffrey had stolen drugs? That could not be. They had to be wrong! Her brother would never do that.

"... You must be mistaken! My brother was ... estate agent ..." A hoarse croak escaped her as the pressure grew stronger and she could barely breathe.

"Don't fool with us, kid. Your brother has stolen the prototype of a new drug from us. WHERE IS IT?" Catherine took a trembling breath and lost all hope in this moment. She knew nothing, absolutely nothing, and that meant that she would not get out of here alive. She had no information and the Russians, Poles or whoever had given her too much information, as they would keep her alive. All she could do was praying and hoping that she might had some idea in this hopeless situation.

"I ... I do not know ..." She whispered in a weak voice. It was hopeless.

This went on for several minutes. The men beat her up and asked her the same question again and again. Meanwhile, every inch of her body ached and she was still held firmly to the ground, but Catherine's answer was the same every time. She did not know where the drugs were and lying was no purpose. It would just extend her torment.

Finally, the first man sighed in frustration and barked an order in the foreign language. Immediately, she was pulled up by her hair and more dragged out of the room then carried. Catherine tried to get up, so she could run with him to reduce the pain, but she had no chance.

A short time later they seemed to reach the goal, because the steps became slower and stopped then. Another order was barked and Catherine was lifted. She cried, screamed and tried to snatch the strong hands. At that moment she felt nothing more than sheer panic. She was blind and completely exposed to the kidnapper. Her captivity had caused that she could hardly think. Just before the men had come to her cell, Catherine had already started to hallucinate, but the adrenaline was preventing that her thoughts became too abstruse. But this stress hormone could not be kept upright forever and Catherine knew it was only a matter of hours, until they broke her mind completely. All just a matter of time and her kidnappers had definitely more pull.

"Hold still, bitch." The man cursed at her shoulders and slapped her face. Catherine groaned and kept quiet then. She did not want this anymore. No pain, no torture. She had had enough. Should they kill her at last, she would leave this hell behind and would be with Jeffrey.

"There we go! Clever girl!" Sherlock! Oh god, how much she wanted to hear it in his mocking tone, but she was alone. As always. John would notice her disappearance for sure, but Sherlock would give him no chance to look after her. Would the Consulting Detective notice it at all? After he had left the hospital, she was not sure if he'll ever want to see her again. A small tear rolled out of her eyes and under the towel. Would this be her last thoughts? Her last thoughts belonged to this arrogant sociopath and John?

"Chain her on it!" Came a voice from the corner. It was even colder than the other, yet tinged with a tone of joy. Anticipation and it was cringe Catherine. This did not bode well.

She heard steps came closer and she felt a foul breath right next to her ear.

"Two minutes, and we have all, what we need." Catherine formally heard the grin and gasped. At that moment, she finally lost any strength and fear spread through her like a torrent, ice-cold river.

A hoarse, anticipated laughter sounded in her ear. It was a dirty, terrifying laugh. Catherine was only lifted higher and rotated. She squirmed, trying to get free somehow, screamed and fought hard, but the psychological torture of her body had sucked all the power, so her try was more than miserable.

The man, who held her, laughed again and it was still a trace crueller than before. These men had no mercy. With nothing and no one. The steps of the man, who carried her, echoed ominously back from the walls. For Catherine it seemed like he walked for ever. She did not know what was coming, but she knew all too well that it would be painful.

Catherine was strapped onto something with her head down. She suspected a board or something. Her feet were bound with thick leather straps and one of the men brutally ripped her hands on her back, twisted her wrists, so they were just about to break, and tied these. She whimpered and fought with all her might against her tears. She did not want to give the kidnappers this last satisfaction. This last piece of pride she would protect for herself and be it until the last breath.

"All set?"

"Yes." Was only answer and then someone came up to her. Something was tied around her mouth. Water flowed over her head, dripping down her hair. Catherine instinctively tried to catch some air and discovered with horror that she was not able to. Desperately she tried to breathe, but whatever she had been tied around her mouth and nose contained water, so she just got some air. It felt as she would drown. Overrun by sheer agony, she was breathing harder and faster and got less air. Again, water was dumped over her head to reinforce the illusion. Catherine screamed in sheer fear against the cloth, fought against the bonds, but they were too tight and every time she pulled, she risked to break her wrists.

After felt hours, which had been probably less than two minutes, someone stepped closer to her and took the cloth from her mouth. Greedy she gasped, her lungs filled with beneficial oxygen. Catherine panted and tried to suppress the fear that had possessed her, but she had no chance.

"Where is the drug?"

"I do not know ..." she said again with a trembling voice. Immediately, she a freshly soaked cloth was tied around her mouth and Catherine felt as if she sat chained on the bottom of the sea. Automatically she started breathing panic and the feeling grew stronger. Catherine knew that this pressure, this feeling of being close to death, would cost her mind in the near future and she would tell them everything so the torture finally would have an end.

After what feels like two hours, the cloth was removed again and the leader asked her the same question, but her response was the same again.

This procedure was repeated five times. Again and again Catherine clung to the idea that it was just an illusion. She could not drown because she hung upside down but all of her instincts screamed at her that she was going to drown. Even though her mind tried to make it clear to her body, he did not listen.

Catherine was now just trembling, begging for mercy and death when the cloth was removed. All spiritual resistance was gone and on her only nibbled bare agony. If Catherine would have any information she would have given them to the men long time ago. Meanwhile, she could not hold back the tears. So she hang on this rack, shaking from fear. She was completely broken and desired nothing more than to simply die and to find her peace.

"She's tough ..." she heard a whisper through her now hardly occurring thoughts. "Most are broken after the first lap and cry like a baby."

"Then we have to increase the pressure." Catherine's eyes widened under her blindfold and begged, but the men all laughed and the sound came back as cruel waves from the walls.

She felt like someone was sitting next to her and again she felt this putrid breath beside her.

"Does Sherlock Holmes have it? Or rather John Watson? Maybe we should visit them." Shock paralyzed Catherine's thoughts and almost strangled cry escaped her, but in the last moment she could stop it. For a moment, flashed a last remnant of spiritual strength through her. Her life was forfeit, she knew that for hours, but she would not allow that Sherlock and especially John were drawn into this thing. She would defend these two and to protect them, because this was all her own fault.

"I ..." She began to stutter. "I do not know Sherlock Holmes ... and no ... John Waners ..."

"Watson!" The man growled next to her and slapped her face. Her head jerked to the side and she screamed in pain. Intermittently breathing, she lifted her head as far as she could and looked in the direction, where she suggested the questioner. She heard his pressed breath, the suppressed rage and impatience. Catherine knew that this game was already dangerous, that it dangerously close to her ruin and she probably made it worse, but she would fight. "And do not tell a lie, bitch. We have seen how you have brought this Holmes the documentation on our smuggling operations." What? Catherine did not understand. Her thoughts took forever to understand what that meant. The documents, which she had found while cleaning up! For God's sake, then Jeffrey had really something to do with this. He had to die because of it. Her mouth opened horrified when she realized how everything was connected.

"So again, where are the drugs? Otherwise we will go to them and kill them reeaaaaally slowly. We'll start with Mr Holmes and kill him right in front of the eyes of his roommate. We will slash him and then..."

"BUT I SAID IT, I DO NOT KNOW!" She screamed in sheer despair, tears rolling from her eyes. No! No, no, no, they could not do anything to them. They tied the cloth over her mouth and Catherine had the feeling again to slip slowly into the depths of the water, while everything went black around her. The tension in her body vanished and her muscles relaxed, waiting for the embrace of death.

"She probably really knows anything." She heard a muffle. "Let's finish it." Catherine was freed and then forced to kneel down. Only a few moments later she heard the unlocking of a gun, took a trembling breath as she felt the cold metal on her temple, trying to avoid him automatically, but the pressure remained. It clacked as the man slowly squeezed the trigger. Catherine held her breath, waiting for the inevitable pain.

/ / Sherlock, John ... I'm sorry ... please forgive me ... / / She thought in her last moments, then came the deafening bang of the gun.


End file.
